Who Wants to Marry a Crawley Sister?
by The Yankee Countess
Summary: A year after their infamous dinner dates, the Crawley sisters are marrying their beaus in a unique and lavish triple wedding ceremony! But when three very different, and very passionate sisters share a day like this, drama is bound to happen! Modern AU, for STEAMM Day 2014; the sequel to "Who Wants to Date a Crawley Sister?"
1. Prologue: The Calm Before the Storm

_HERE IT IS! My contribution to STEAMM Day 2014, and the sequel to my STEAMM story from last year (Who Wants to Date a Crawley Sister?) More to come on the actual day itself, but I wanted to post the prologue a bit early (besides, technically it's Sept. 14 already in some parts of the world!)_

_This story takes place a year after the end of the last one. More will be revealed through flashbacks in the upcoming chapters, but basically, all three Crawley sisters are engaged to the men they met (or reunited with) from their infamous "date night". Now it's the weekend for the actual wedding! But with the media wanting to catch a glimpse of this unique "triple wedding ceremony", not to mention a few other factors from uninvited guests to the invasion of countless relatives and so much more, the question soon becomes..._are_ the grooms **mad** enough to take on the Crawley sisters?_

_THANK YOU for all the support with my last STEAMM story! I'm glad so many people enjoyed it, from my fellow S/T shippers, to the E/A and M/M folks, and DA lovers in general. I hope you enjoy this one too, I would love to hear your thoughts! Again, thank you for reading!_

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_**Who Wants to Marry a Crawley Sister?**_  
_by The Yankee Countess_

_Proglogue  
**"The Calm Before the Storm"**_

_WEDDING OF THE CENTURY!_

_Move over Will &amp; Kate, the Crawley sisters are here to steal your thunder!_

_Not one, not two, but all three of Lord Grantham's beautiful daughters are getting married in a dazzling, one-of-a-kind TRIPLE WEDDING CERMONY, taking place THIS WEEKEND at the Earl's lavish, famed estate, Downton Abbey in Yorkshire._

_You may recall how the previous year, the lovely Ladies Mary, Edith, and Sybil Crawley, put themselves on the auction block, so to speak, for the Grantham Foundation's annual charity auction, where three lucky gentlemen could win the chance of having the pleasure of their company for an evening out on the town. Who knew that something as simple as winning a dinner date would eventually lead to an engagement?_

_The lucky bachelors are as different as can be!_

_Mr. Matthew Crawley of Manchester, a lawyer who has recently been named Lady Mary's partner for the Grantham Foundation. (Nepotism perhaps? Or is their similar surname a matter of coincidence?)_

_Sir Anthony Strallan of Locksley Park in Yorkshire, the Minister of Agriculture (is Lady Edith, soon to be the next Lady Strallan, a trophy wife?)_

_Mr. Tom Branson of Dublin, a journalist for _The Standard _(not the sort of newsmagazine a Tory would catch himself reading, let alone agreeing to become part of the family)_

_Little is known about the upcoming ceremony; invitations have been limited, though that won't stop the mass of royal and aristo enthusiasts from descending on the tiny village of Downton with hopes of catching a glimpse of one of the famous Crawley sisters, if not all three, in their wedding regalia. Rumor has it, however, that at least two of the brides are harkening back to the 1920's in the style choices of their gowns._

_Bookie offices from London to Cardiff have reported an increase in bets pertaining specifically to the impending nuptials, ranging from the cynical _(how long it will last) _to the fashionable _(which sister's gown will outshine the others) _to the downright bizarre _(will some former suitor interrupt the service?)

_While sadly, unlike the Royal Wedding, the triple wedding of the Crawley sisters will not be on any screen, though insiders—including our own "moles"—will be present and infiltrating everything, from the ceremony to the reception, tweeting everything live and direct to our website, so be sure to tune in, because you will not want to miss a single moment!_

Robert Crawley sighed as he lowered the newspaper. "This is going to be a media circus, isn't it?"

"Well, what did you expect?" his mother remarked from the chair which sat opposite his own. "The second it was announced that it would be a 'triple wedding'…" she clicked her tongue in obvious disapproval. "You really should have allowed me to oversee this whole thing, rather than let Cora run amuck—"

"Mama, please," Robert muttered, before lowering himself back to his chair and rubbing his temples as his headache began to increase.

Violet Crawley pursed her lips, but chose to remain quiet on the subject, at least for the moment. "What time are they all arriving?" she asked, changing the subject slightly.

Robert groaned. "Which ones?" he asked. "The girls and their soon-to-be spouses, or half of the Irish population?"

"How many of his relatives are coming?"

"God knows…at least twenty?" Robert sighed, trying to remember the number of Bransons his daughter told him to expect.

Violet smoothed a wrinkle on her pants suit. "Speaking of which, I think I'm going to invite Lady Margot to come and stay with me at the Dower House."

Robert frowned. "Why? She's Sir Anthony's sister, she has a perfectly good place to stay at Locksley—"

"Yes, but she and I haven't had a chance to properly talk since all this began, and I'd like to know her thoughts—"

"Mama…" there was a slight warning in his tone. "While I understand your…misgivings—"

"The man _is_ a quarter of a century older than her, Robert, not to mention he holds a prominent office in Parliament, which just turns Edith into a cliché—"

"The business is done," Robert interrupted, finality in his tone now. "And…Edith is right; if I'm not going to forbid Sybil from marrying a journalist whose newspaper goes against everything I stand for, well…how can I forbid her from marrying Sir Anthony Strallan?"

Violet cocked an eyebrow at him. "You're too soft, Robert; you get that from your father—"

"Oh please," he fixed her with a look of his own. "Don't think I'm not aware of the 'meddling' you pulled to bring Mary and Matthew back together." His eyes widened then as if realization dawned on him. "Is _that_ what this is about?"

Violet frowned. "What?"

"Are you hoping that Lady Margot will come and be your guest so you don't have to deal with Isobel?"

"Oh don't be ridiculous," Violet muttered, waving her hand in a dismissive manner. "Isobel and I get along just fine—"

Robert snorted.

Violet glared at him. "Lord knows I'd much rather spend an entire afternoon and evening in her company than that odious American woman—"

"Cora's mother?" Robert did find himself grimacing slightly at the thought of his mother-in-law. He would never go so far as to call her "odious", or to even think that about her, but she was a bit…much. "Well, just try to get along for the girls' sake this weekend. And besides, she'll be staying here at Downton, so you won't have to worry about crossing paths with her, except at meals and the wedding, of course."

Violet just rolled her eyes.

A knock on the study door drew the attention of both the Earl and Dowager Countess, who were greeted by Downton's butler. "Forgive the interruption, milord, but I just wanted to inform you on behalf of Mrs. Hughes that everything is ready and prepared for when the guests start arriving tomorrow."

"Thank you, Carson," Robert replied, to which the butler gave a polite and obedient bow of the head, before turning and leaving and shutting the door behind him.

Violet turned back to him and looked at her son closely. "Well…? Are you ready?"

Robert sighed, glancing one last time at the tabloid on his desk, before turning back to his mother. "Is any father, on the weekend of his daughter's wedding? And not just one daughter, but all three?"

"I wouldn't know since I'm not a father," Violet simply remarked.

At that, Robert did chuckle. "I think the best people to direct that question to, is the girls; are _they_ ready?"

"Oh they are, I have no doubt," Violet answered, rising to her feet. "It's _those grooms_ I'm concerned about."

Robert frowned. "Do you suspect cold feet?"

Violet was thoughtful for a moment. "Not 'cold', exactly, but anxious? Yes, and how could they not be?" She shared a knowing smile with her son. "After all…they're marrying into this family."

_To be continued..._


	2. The Rehearsal Dinner

_THANK YOU SO MUCH! Wow, I am floored by the response to the prologue! I'm glad people are excited! This next chapter is a bit of a mystery, as well as a little bit angsty ;o) but stick with me, it will all turn out ok in the end (we just have to travel over a few bumps to make it interesting!) Originally I wanted to keep this story as a simple 3-chapter arc, but I can see that this is going to become much longer, so I'm even going to try to say how many chapters-we'll see where it goes!_

_Here is my installment for STEAMM day 2014! BUT *maybe*, if I have the chance, I can write more later and update again quickly? We'll see! BUT THANK YOU FOR READING AND FOLLOWING, and please share with me your thoughts!_

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_Chapter One__**  
**__**"The Rehearsal Dinner"**_

The dining room at Downton Abbey had never been this full. Even back during the Great War, when the Earl of Grantham had entertained the famous General Strutt, the place hadn't been half as packed. Of course, this was a rehearsal dinner, on the night before the present Earl of Grantham's three lovely daughters were to be married.

Robert Crawley rose to his feet, and began tapping his wine glass to get the attention of everyone in the room (which was by no means, an easy task). "Excuse me; can I have your attention please? _Please?"_ he kept repeating, tapping the wine glass with a little more vigor than was perhaps needed, but when there were several children in the room, all of whom were quite rowdy, it felt necessary.

The parents of those children finally managed to get them to hush, while the Dowager Countess, and a few others, didn't bother holding back their looks of displeasure at this rather "unusual" arrangement where children were permitted to share the same table with all of the adults, but as Violet Crawley had to remind herself…things were just done differently in Ireland.

A silence of sorts had settled over the room, and Robert knew it was now or never to take advantage of the peace while he could. "I just want to thank you all for coming, and for joining Cora and myself as we celebrate the marriages of our daughters, Mary, Edith, and Sybil, to Matthew, Sir Anthony, and Tom."

"Here, here!" replied several guests, lifting their glasses and grinning at the brides and grooms.

Robert smiled down at his wife, who grinned and took his hand, squeezing it, before turning and looking at their daughters, Mary and Edith on Cora's right, Sybil sitting across from her. All three girls smiled and blushed, Edith beaming as she looked across the table at her fiancé, who smiled lovingly back at her…but not for the first time that evening, did Cora Crawley notice the man look…uneasy. _Pre-wedding jitters_, she simply told herself. Robert suffered the same thing, when they got married.

She turned her head to her eldest daughter, who was smiling politely at their father, ever the picture of English propriety, though it was not missed on Cora that Mary had spent more time during their meal with her eyes on her wine glass, and more conversation with various people around the table, as opposed to her own fiancé, who sat directly across from her.

And then there was Sybil, who had insisted on sitting next to Tom during the dinner, though it was not "proper" as far as table etiquette went, but then when did Sybil ever pay attention to such things? It was her idea (and insistence) that Tom's nieces and nephews be allowed to share this meal with all of them, rather than be banished to Downton's old nursery, which hadn't seen any life in it for years. Both Tom and Sybil were smiling and were practically joined at the hip, or so it seemed from where Cora sat, though it wasn't missed on her that even they seemed restless.

"It's hard to believe that this day has come…" Robert continued in his speech. "Why, I remember when all of them were still in nappies—"

"Oh, Papa…" his daughters all moaned at the same time, though despite their blushes, they did smile at their father, while his own mother frowned.

"Alright, I won't embarrass you with that story," he chuckled, smiling at his daughters. "But I do remember as if it were yesterday, when I came upon Mary, sitting at my desk in my study, pouring over the long, lustrous history of the Crawleys at Downton Abbey—and I should mention that she wasn't even ten at the time."

A chuckle went up from around the table. Cora smiled and squeezed her eldest daughter's hand and glanced across the table at Matthew, who was also smiling back, his eyes soft and tender as he gazed at his fiancée, before he lifted a hand to his somewhat grizzled face. Mary, however, kept her eyes down.

"Yes, even then, Mary was clearly determined to 'manage' things for the family…which no doubt explains why she does such an impeccable job for The Grantham Foundation…"

This earned another murmuring of agreement.

"…And yes, it does seem like only yesterday when I happened upon finding Edith in the ballroom—only six or seven, if memory serves—swirling and twirling around with an invisible partner, pausing every so often to curtsey and murmur 'I'd be delighted!'"

A collective sound of "awww's!" went up around the table, and Edith blushed and hid her face behind her hands, chastising her father for telling that story, while giggling and looking across at Sir Anthony, who did look back at her with pure wonder, though also…what seemed to Cora to be a little sadness.

"I couldn't help myself, I had to interrupt and asked if I could 'cut in' with her invisible partner, to which she actually said, 'no Papa, this is my wedding dance'!"

The room erupted with laughter and Edith turned an even brighter shade of pink.

"…And then there's Sybil…" Robert sighed, and all of the Bransons who were in the room leaned forward and a rumble of "ooooohhhhh's!" could be heard as they waited to hear whatever embarrassing childhood story the Earl was going to share.

"Yes, I suppose it was 'destiny' if you will that Sybil became a doctor. She was always bandaging scrapes and dressing cuts should someone fall and bruise themselves; knew where Mrs. Patmore kept the first-aid kit in the kitchen. And then I remember finding her the garage one day…"

A gasp went up from Sybil, and her face paled and her eyes widened. "Oh Papa, don't!"

"…and the Bellasis boy was visiting and had cut his hand on something, and Sybil in her way had bandaged him up, but when he was still mumbling about how much it hurt and if she had something to dull the pain, dear Sybil's solution to this was to lower her head and KISS the wound!"

"I WAS EIGHT!" Sybil gasped, looking absolutely mortified that her father had told this story. Everybody else, including Tom, was having a good laugh, while Sybil groaned and tried to hide her face in his shoulder.

"Oh, but wait! Wait…the best part, the best part," Robert gasped between his own chuckles, and was looking directly at Sybil's fiancé. "Is that the boy's name…was _Tom_ as well!"

Now all of the Bransons were howling with laughter, finding this bit of information quite amusing. Tom chuckled and wrapped his arm around his fiancée's shoulders, his other hand moving to cup her cheek and draw her face away. "Suppose it was destiny in more ways than one, eh love?"

Sybil swatted him, but smiled as he tilted her face before brushing his lips against hers, earning a round of applause from the Irish half of the table.

Robert smiled and turned his attention to the gentlemen gathered. "I never thought, when my mother proposed the idea of having the girls 'auction themselves' off for a dinner date, that it would lead to altogether different kind of proposal…or _proposals_, I should say," he chuckled. "And I certainly wasn't the easiest man to get passed," he sighed, somewhat sheepishly. "Tom," he turned to the Irishman. "While I highly doubt we shall eye to eye on…possibly anything…" this did earn a light chuckle from around the table. "…You have proven to me, on multiple occasions, that you are far more of a gentleman than most 'gentlemen' I am acquainted with."

Tom blushed and bowed his head slightly, while Sybil smiled and squeezed his arm.

Robert turned to Anthony, whose eyes widened and whose face immediately began to redden even before anything was said.

"Anthony…when I caught Edith dancing in the ballroom all those years ago, I had never imagined that the 'invisible husband' to whom she was dancing would one day turn out to be neighbor."

Edith blushed, but smiled brightly as she lovingly gazed across the table at the man she was going to be marrying in less than day.

"…And I certainly never imagined that my future son-in-law was going to be so similar in age to myself." This earned a rumble of laughter from around the table, especially from the younger guests. "Promise me, Anthony, that you'll simply call me 'Robert', and not 'Papa'?"

The words were said in jest, and were taken as such by a great many people, though it was not missed by Cora that Sir Anthony, while sheepishly smiling, did look embarrassed by joke.

"Papa, don't be mean," Edith chastised, though it was done in good humor.

Robert chuckled and then finally turned to Matthew, who gave a rather dramatic sigh for humor's sake, before holding his hands out and waiting for the roasting.

"Well, Matthew, I think your appearance at last year's auction was the only thing that could have shocked me more than Edith winning a date with the Minister of Agriculture."

A soft chuckle went up around the room.

"I must confess, when things ended between you and Mary all those years ago, I feared we had seen the last of you…" he sighed. Matthew glanced across the table at Mary, whose eyes were fixed on her wine glass again.

"…But now here you are, _finally_ where you should be, engaged to my daughter and back once more in our lives, which does mean I'm afraid, that of all the men here, you're the one with the biggest shot gun at his back."

A laugh rang out around the table then, and Matthew looked down, red-faced, but smiling.

Robert grinned widely and lifted his glass high, to which everyone did likewise (even the children gathered at the far end of the dining room). "To Mary and Matthew, Edith and Anthony, Sybil and Tom—you're brave men, taking on the Crawley sisters for your wives—"

All three of his daughters, as well as Cora, groaned his name, though it was quickly followed by giggling.

"—I repeat, _brave men_…but also very fortunate, if I do say so myself," Robert's eyes grew soft and tender as he looked at his girls. "Yes, very fortunate indeed," he whispered, feeling himself becoming rather emotional. Cora shared that feeling, and squeezed his hand in understanding.

Robert swallowed and took a deep breath. "I believe I speak for everyone here, when I say…I wish you every joy and blessing, for tomorrow, and all the days beyond."

The voices around the table murmured in agreement, before holding their glasses high and happily declaring, "cheers!" at last, before drinking the Earl's toast at last.

"Well done," Cora murmured, smiling proudly at her husband, before giving his hand a gentle tug and urging him to sit back down. Both Sybil and Edith had risen from their chairs and come around to give their father a proper hug, while Mary remained where she was, but smiled fondly back at him.

"I think I would like to say something…" an American voice declared, preparing to rise from her chair, but Violet Crawley was quick to answer, before Cora's mother (and her arch nemesis) had a chance.

"Good heavens, is that the time?" she gasped, pointing to a clock that stood in the far corner. "The grooms should have left ages ago! Come, come, best send them on their way!"

"Oh Granny, surely you don't believe in that superstitious nonsense?" Sybil questioned, a deep frown on her face.

Violet fixed her youngest granddaughter with a hard look. "It is not a matter of 'superstition' but one of practicality. We have a long day tomorrow and all of you should get your rest!" She turned her eyes to her other granddaughters, as if daring them to challenge her on this. "No bride wants to look tired on her wedding day; people seeing her so will assume she's anxious or has been up to no good."

Edith blushed but smiled across the table at Sir Anthony. "Well, I don't think I'll be able to sleep a wink," she answered honestly, a soft giggle in her voice.

Sybil's grin was anything but innocent, as she murmured, just loud enough for her grandmother and sisters to hear, "tonight or tomorrow…"

Tom practically choked on the wine he was finishing, and Matthew had to bite his fist to keep himself from bursting out laughing. Sir Anthony looked as if he could put an entire field of strawberries to shame with how red his face had become.

Mary tried to look sternly at her sister, though her own eyes were dancing with amusement at Sybil's words, while Edith couldn't hold back her gasp, though she too was grinning from ear to ear, while the Dowager Countess simply frowned. "Sybil, vulgarity is no substitute for wit."

Sybil simply beamed proudly. "You started it."

Her American grandmother was beaming too. "That's my girl."

"Right!" Cora rose to her feet, recognizing the need to diffuse the possible ticking time bomb. "Girls, your grandmother is right, you should bid Anthony, Matthew, and Tom goodnight, before heading up to bed yourselves."

A sigh of "yes, Mama," was murmured by the three Crawley sisters, who rose, along with their fiancés, and all three couples turned to everyone else in the room and offered their goodnights to the party. A loud chorus of "goodnight!" in various Irish accents echoed the couples, as well as softer, and slightly more reserved responses from the English guests, especially those of the upper crust variety.

Cora and Robert continued to hold hands as they watched their daughters exit, their grooms following close behind. "It was a lovely dinner, Robert," Cora whispered to her husband as they waved goodnight the parting couples. "And that was a very fine toast you gave."

Robert smiled and kissed Cora's hand. "Tomorrow's the big day," he sighed, feeling a little melancholy at the prospect. Still, he put on a smile and turned to his wife…whose brow, he noticed, seemed to be set in a frown. "Cora? Something wrong?"

His wife's eyes widened, as if shaken from her thoughts. "What? Oh! No, no, just…" she glanced at the door where the couples had exited. "…Nothing, I'm sure everything is fine," she assured, though in truth, she wasn't quite sure who she was trying assure more at the moment.

Outside in the Hall, the three couples wandered away from each other, each seeking some privacy as they wished each other goodnight.

One couple spent the time kissing, holding each other, and the groom teased the bride mercilessly for the revelation that Lord Grantham gave. It was innocent and done in good fun, yet if they knew then what they would discover in less than twenty-four hours, the groom may not have been so light-hearted in his teasing…

For another couple, the bride smiled adoringly at her groom, and he smiled back, her hands coming to rest upon his chest, and remarking with blushing cheeks how quickly his heart was racing, to which he murmured before kissing her that that was only natural, considering she was present. It was a sweet moment, filled with love, yet what the bride didn't realize was that her groom's heart was filled with anxiety, an anxiety that had been creeping for some time, and now with the return of a certain person in his life, it was weighing down upon his mind greater than ever before…

And for the third couple, the groom reached for his bride to whisper goodnight, but saw that she had stiffened and was looking down, as if she couldn't bear to look at him, as if she were…ashamed, or had some sort of tremendous secret to hide. He debated about whether or not to say anything, because he didn't want to have a repeat of what took place in the car journey to Downton, and then decided to reveal his own secret, with hopes that that would put her at ease…however, it only caused her eyes to widen, her frown to deepen, and her voice to coldly reply, "you think _that's_ what this is about?" before releasing his hands and turning on her heel and walking away…

Yes, as all three grooms had quickly come to realize, you had to be _mad_ to take on the Crawley girls.

…But as their future father-in-law promised, they would also quickly realize how very fortunate they were to "suffer" from such madness.

_To be continued..._


	3. Six Months Ago

_Again, thank you so much for the response to this story! I am excited too, about this special wedding day! We have a journey ahead of us, with some bumps here and there, but it will hopefully be a fun ride in the end. NOW, for those of you wondering about how both Sybil and Edith were proposed to...well, just keep reading ;o) FLASH BACK CHAPTER!_

_THANK YOU for following, reading, and reviewing! I love hearing from you, and every review is very, very much appreciated. I hope you enjoy and always keep the STEAMM ships sailing!_

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_Chapter Two**  
**__**"Six Months Ago"**_

Edith sighed as she glanced over at Mary, who was grumbling to herself (or to her mobile) as she, for the third time since they had met at the bridal shop, sent another text to their little sister, demanding to know where she was.

"Honestly," Mary muttered. "She knows what a tight schedule I have—she knows this was the only time when I could get the bridesmaid dresses fitted!"

Edith understood Mary's frustration; she wasn't the only one who had plans for the rest of the day. Still, what point was there in adding fuel to the already raging fire? "Well, maybe her shift ran longer—"

"She didn't have a shift today, which was why _today,_ worked!" Mary snapped, her eyes never leaving the screen in front of her. "And she's not answering my texts, and I've rung her twice—"

"I'm sure she'll be here any minute," Edith mumbled, though this was something she had been saying for the last twenty minutes since Mary began to pace with great agitation. She wasn't sure if she was trying to console her sister, or just "will" Sybil's arrival into existence.

Mary looked up from her mobile and glared back at her. "You sound like a broken record," she muttered.

Edith rolled her eyes. "And _you_ sound like a 'bridezilla'," she retorted.

The sound of someone clearing her throat stopped the argument from escalating, and both Mary and Edith glanced somewhat sheepishly at the third member of their little group.

"We can always start without Lady Sybil," Anna Bates suggested, ever the voice of peace and reason. Anna was going to be Mary's Matron of Honor, which made sense, Edith thought; they were very good friends and had been long before Anna had taken on the job of serving as their grandmother's personal assistant. Besides, this way Mary wouldn't have to "choose" between her sisters, though Edith didn't think it was a contest if she had—she knew, just as sure as Mary knew, that if they both had to pick either each other or Sybil, they would both choose Sybil.

…Though based on how Mary was feeling towards their baby sister now, Sybil would be fortunate to even be invited to the wedding.

Mary glanced at her watch and groaned. "Alright, let's do that," she agreed with Anna, before turning to one of the dressmakers, who had been standing off to the side, waiting patiently. Yet Mary hadn't even opened her mouth to request for the dresses to be brought out, before the door to the shop burst open, and their little sister came rushing in, gasping and looking a little ragged around the edges.

"SYBIL!" they all exclaimed at the same time. She was a sight to see, her hair, which had always been a touch unruly, flying in every direction, her cheeks pink, perspiration across her brow, and her chest panting from running. Yet her eyes were bright and despite the somewhat guilty expression she wore, she was also beaming; glowing, even.

"Sorry!" she apologized, tugging at her scarf. "I know I'm late—"

"BY THIRTY MINUTES!" Mary hissed, giving their sister such a glare, that if looks could kill…

Well, needless to say, Mary was upset.

Sybil did look apologetic; however, she continued beaming. "I know, and I am sorry, Mary, truly—"

Mary raised her hand. "I don't want to hear your excuses, _especially_ if they have anything to do with that boyfriend of yours," she muttered with a roll of her eyes. It wasn't that Mary disliked Tom, but ever since he and Sybil had started dating, Sybil had developed a bad habit of being "unreliable" when it came to punctuality. She had also developed a "bad habit" of not being afraid to sing Tom's praises when it came to his skills in the bedroom.

"Oh Mary, I thought you liked Tom?" Sybil giggled, coming up to her sister and wrapping her arms around the eldest Crawley. Edith couldn't help but watch the display with amusement. If she had made such a gesture after arriving thirty minutes late, Mary would have bitten her head off before she walked through the door.

"You know what I like?" Mary muttered, wriggling herself free from Sybil's embrace. "My little sister BEING ON TIME like she had promised—"

Anna cleared her throat again and Mary sighed before stepping away, lifting a hand to rub her forehead, before turning to the dressmakers and putting on a smile that was clear to anyone with eyes that it was forced, and asked in as polite a tone as possible, if the bridesmaids dresses she had requested could be brought out.

Edith moved over to Sybil and tried to give her a stern look, though in truth it was filled more with curiosity. "Why are you looking like that?" she asked.

Sybil turned and looked at her with confusion. "Like what?"

Edith rolled her eyes. "Like…" she made a gesture with her hand at Sybil's face. "…I mean, the way you're smiling, it's like you can't stop."

At this, Sybil's grin only widened. "Is it a crime to be happy?" she teased with a giggle.

Edith lifted an eyebrow at this. "What are you hiding?" she whispered.

"Hiding?"

"Oh come on, Sybil, you clearly know _something_, the way you—"

"Sybil, you go first," Mary's voice interrupted their whispering. "Take off your coat and let's see how the dress looks on you—oh God, _please_ tell me you brought the shoes I asked you to get?"

Sybil playfully rolled her eyes, but nodded her head in affirmation, lifting a bag that contained the heels Mary desired her bridesmaids to wear. She unbuttoned her coat and slipped it off, and it wasn't missed on Edith how she was grinning rather madly as she pulled her gloves off. Really, what was her sister hiding? Why was she so—?

"OH!"

Both Mary and Edith whipped their heads to Anna who had gasped quite loudly. "What? What is it!?" Mary asked, looking at Anna with some panic, but Anna was grinning rather madly herself, and looking at Sybil with sparkling eyes, a silent question being asked, and Sybil just giggled and nodded her head, before turning to both Mary and Edith and "casually" lifting her left hand to brush a wild curl behind her ear…

The light that was shining overhead caught the sparkle of the diamond.

"OH!" Now it was Mary and Edith's turn to gasp. Sybil laughed and held her hand out for them to see. Mary didn't waste any time, grabbing hold of it. "WHEN?" she demanded, though the harshness and irritation in her voice from earlier was now completely gone.

Sybil laughed even more. "Just now!" she giggled.

_"NOW!?"_ both Edith and Mary echoed, before asking further, "Was _that_ why you were late?"

Sybil couldn't stop grinning and quickly nodded her head to answer the question.

"HOW!?" they both echoed once again, before pulling Sybil over to a nearby sofa, and pulling her down, not letting go of her hands until they heard the story. Anna was grinning and eager to hear more as well, but glanced apologetically at the dressmaker, who looked rather confused at this turn of events.

"Well…" Sybil began, blushing and smiling. "It was a bit of an accident, actually…"

* * *

_One hour earlier…_

"Tom…" she moaned, trying to twist away. "Stop…ooohhhh God, don't stop—NO! No, I can't, I can't!" she wriggled away (just barely) out of his hold, and quickly jumped off the bed, bounding to the other side of the little bedroom, grabbing her knickers and bra on the way. "You're incorrigible," she groaned, especially when she saw the playful pout he had put on as she bent over to pull up her knickers.

"Me!?" he gasped in mock outrage. "If I recall, I had come home with the pure intention of getting a bite before going back to the office, when some posh English minx who also happens to be a gorgeous doctor and who I am very, very lucky to share this flat with, POUNCED on me the second I walked through the door—"

"I did not 'pounce'," Sybil argued, poking her tongue out, before giggling at the growling sound he made. "And even so, are you really going to complain about me wanting to drag you back into our bed and finish what you had started this morning before leaving?"

"Ah, so that's it, is it?" he chuckled, sitting up a little and adjusting the sheets around himself. "You're getting your revenge on me from this morning? Leaving now when I'm all 'hot and bothered'?"

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help laughing at his words. "No, I just have that dress fitting with Mary, Edith, and Anna, and…" she glanced at the clock. "I really need to get going; you know how Mary is about these things."

He sighed and nodded. "Aye, and I know the lectures she's always giving us be they vocal or silent whenever we show up late for something."

"And whose fault is that?" Sybil teased, sliding her bra back on.

"Oh, no doubt about it, yours completely."

"OH!" she reached out and swatted his foot, then leapt back before he could grab her and pull her back into bed. "Cheeky," she muttered, poking her tongue out at him again.

"Takes one to know one, love," he teased, before finally rising himself and grabbing his own underwear from the floor.

Sybil began getting dressed in earnest, slipping on a simple jumper and a pair of jeans, knowing they weren't the sort of clothes one would wear to a posh bridal boutique, but she didn't really see the point in dressing up when she was going to a fitting for whatever bridesmaid gown Mary had chosen. Besides, her sister should be glad she wasn't coming in scrubs.

Sybil reached into the pocket of her jeans and frowned when she found that it was empty. She checked the other pocket and found that it was empty too. "Tom?" she called out (he had gone into the bathroom). "Have you seen my Oyster Card?"

"What?" his voice was muffled from the other side.

"My Oyster Card," Sybil repeated. "I could have sworn I put it in the pocket of my jeans last night…" her voice trailed off as she relayed the events from the previous evening. Tom had joined her, Thomas, and Gwen at _The Golden Unicorn_ when her shift had ended, and they drank and ate and played darts till it was near closing time, and then she and Tom walked (somewhat drunkenly) to the tube station, laughing and kissing along the way…

Had she left the card on the train? She usually kept it in her purse, but she did remember stuffing it inside her pocket last night, and these were the jeans she had worn…

"Just borrow mine, love!" his voice rang out from behind the bathroom door. The office to _The Standard_ was only four streets away (part of the reason this flat so desirable; four streets away from Tom's workplace and just across the street from the tube station that she took to the hospital).

She could hear water running. "Where is it?"

"Check the top drawer on the bureau."

Her eyebrows rose at this. "The sock drawer?" she giggled at this. Why would he keep his Oyster Card in the sock drawer? But she just shrugged her shoulders and went to the drawer he had indicated, opening it to search for what she needed, and frowning at not seeing anything other than rolled-up pairs of socks. "Tom…what are you talking about? It's not in here…" she rummaged a little more, wondering if it had fallen underneath his socks or was somehow in the back of the drawer.

The bathroom door opened then and Tom let out a gasp. "NO! Not that drawer, I meant the bureau in the living room!"

He had dashed across the bedroom to stop her from rummaging further…

But it was too late.

Because in the midst of her search, her hand found something small and square, and just as Tom had reached her side, she had withdrawn the box and without even pausing, had opened it…and was staring down at the ring it held.

Sybil swallowed…and lifted her eyes to her boyfriend. "Tom…?"

Tom groaned and ran his hand over his face and then up into his hair. "This isn't how I thought it would be," he sighed, looking a little sheepish.

Sybil's eyes kept darting back and forth between his face and the ring she held. Her body was trembling and her heart was racing. "And…and how _had_ you thought it would be?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

She felt his hand touch hers, and she looked up at him, her vision slightly blurred with tears, and her heart bursting at the loving smile that had spread across his face. "…Like this," he murmured, bringing her hand to his lips and brushing them across her knuckles…and never letting go as he got down on one knee. "Sybil—"

"YES!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his shoulders and practically tackling him to the floor, her lips instantly fusing with his.

Tom, bless him, tried to speak, but he soon gave up and just wrapped his own arms around her and kissed her back with the same passion she was showing. They stayed like that for a long time, just lying on the floor, kissing and giggling and kissing some more, Tom murmuring loving words to her in Irish, and Sybil telling him over and over, "I love you…yes…a thousand times, yes…"

It may not have been how he had planned, but Sybil was never one that needed grand gestures or great fanfare. Truly, she couldn't imagine a better or more romantic proposal…

* * *

"…So that's it?"

Sybil looked at Edith, blinked for a moment, before bursting out laughing, causing Edith to blush deeply. "I…I didn't mean—"

Sybil waved her arm, gesturing to Edith that it was alright. "Please, you don't need to explain or apologize," she giggled. "But yes…that was 'it', more or less. Tom had been hiding the ring, trying to wait and find the perfect opportunity…but the truth is, that _was_ the perfect opportunity!" Sybil happily sighed as she looked down at the ring that adorned her finger. "For some reason, men seem to think that every woman wants a 'song and dance', when I'll take unplanned, impromptu proposals on the floor of my bedroom any day."

Edith blushed at this, just imagining what happened after the proposal (and having a feeling that Sybil and her now fiancé did a bit more than just hold each other and kiss after the moment had occurred).

Mary, meanwhile, had been quiet during the entire retelling, and it was only when Sybil turned to their eldest sister and ask if she was alright, did she shake her head and come out of whatever stupor she was in. "Yes, sorry, I…" she shook her head again. "Congratulations," she quickly added, smiling at Sybil and reaching across the little space between them to hug her, though it wasn't missed on Edith that Mary's smile seemed somewhat forced.

Sybil smiled and returned the hug, seemingly oblivious to what Edith had observed. "Thank you—I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to steal your thunder today, truly, I just…" she looked down at her finger again and her smile simply became even more radiant than before.

Mary's forced-looking smile immediately softened, and she took Sybil's hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. "I understand, darling," Mary murmured, to which Edith could not deny she did feel the tiniest stab of jealousy. Yes, she was the odd one out amongst their little group; Anna married, Mary engaged, and now Sybil. Still, Edith shook her head, telling her brain to stop moping at once. She was in love and with a wonderful man who was nothing but the perfect gentleman; if only every woman were so lucky?

"I'm just surprised, that's all!" Mary explained, stepping away from Sybil and bringing her fingers up to quickly brush at the corners of her eyes. "I mean…it is rather fast—"

"Mary…" Sybil said their sister's name with a little bit of a warning in her tone. Not that that would stop Mary from pressing the issue.

"I'm not saying that as an 'insult', Sybil, but you cannot deny that it _is_ fast; the both of you have only been dating for six months, and just last month did the two of you move in together." Mary looked at Edith then, as if expecting her to back her up and be a "voice of reason" to Sybil, not that that would do much good. Once Sybil set her mind to something, there was no stopping her. Besides, she had been dating Sir Anthony for the same period of time, and if what Sybil felt for Tom was anything remotely close to what she felt for Sir Anthony, then she wouldn't dream of telling their little sister to "ease back".

"I know, I know," Sybil sighed, more as a means to pacify their sister, Edith thought. "Yes, it does seem 'fast', but…" she lifted her eyes and looked directly at the three of them gathered, and Edith couldn't help but feel her heart melt at the loving, happy look that filled Sybil's tear-filled eyes. "…But it also feels so _right_, too. I love him; I _love_ Tom and…I've never been surer of anything!"

Edith glanced at Mary, whose own eyes seemed to have filled with tears then. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something in Mary's gaze; not regret, nothing like that, but…something. But Mary took Sybil's hands in hers, and gave a silent nod, which was enough for the youngest Crawley sister to smile and embrace her eldest, hugging her tight and thanking her for understanding.

"May I see, milady?" Anna asked, having not gotten the chance to look at Sybil's ring properly yet. "Oh, how lovely," Anna happily sighed, looking closely at Sybil's finger.

Sybil smiled proudly. "It was his grandmother's," she explained. "Notice the Celtic knot in the design?"

Mary frowned. "How long has he had this ring?"

Sybil blushed and looked down somewhat bashfully. "Well, remember how I went to Dublin with him at New Year's?"

Mary's eyes widened. "That was three months ago!"

Edith also looked surprised. "Wait…he got the ring then? He's had it all this time…?"

Sybil laughed and nodded her head. "Yes, he um…well, at some point during our holiday, he went to talk to his mother, and had said that…he had never felt like this before with anyone, and…and he couldn't imagine being with anyone else…and so asked his mother if he could have his grandmother's ring…" she bit her lip (as if that would stop her from smiling). "He's kept it hidden in that sock drawer ever since we moved in, just…waiting, like I said, for the 'perfect moment'. He told me he wanted to ask me ages ago, but was afraid that I would be 'frightened off' because that really would be seen as 'too fast', but…I honestly believe I would have said 'yes' then as I did now, because truly…I can't imagine being with anyone else for the rest of my life!"

She was so happy, and her happiness was so infectious that Edith couldn't help tearing up herself. She moved to embrace Sybil herself, and Sybil welcomed the hug, before whispering in Edith's ear, "you're next; just you wait…I've seen the way Sir Anthony looks at you; a proposal isn't far off."

Oh she wanted to believe her, but at the same time, Edith didn't want to "get her hopes up", especially when things were going so well between herself and Sir Anthony. He had already been married before, he may not want to marry again, and Edith had promised herself long ago, she would never push or pressure him to do so. She could be content with the way things remained, truly. She didn't need a diamond on her finger to remind her that he loved her.

The fitting finally got underway after that; Edith did her best to keep her opinions to herself as she was poked and prodded with measuring tape, before putting on Mary's choice for bridesmaids gowns (a deep, crimson red, one of Mary's favorite shades that she always looked dazzling in, but one that did not compliment Edith's coloring, particularly). When the fitting was over, Sybil suggested the four of them going out for a drink, but Mary was already late for an appointment of some kind connected to the foundation, so both she with a fleeting kiss to Sybil and Edith's cheeks, she dashed away with Anna in tow. As for herself, Edith apologized to Sybil; she and Anthony were going up to York for the weekend and she still needed to finish packing. Sybil gave a little giggle, which was followed by a mischievous look, to which Edith quickly told her to stop. Ever since that morning when Sybil had walked in on her and Anthony, her sister liked to tease her that the moment had traumatized the both of them so much, they always had to "runaway" to Yorkshire for their weekend rendezvous. "Have fun!" Sybil giggled, kissing Edith's cheek. "And who knows? Maybe Sir Anthony has something up his sleeve—"

"Enough!" Edith groaned, though she did put a smile for her sister and murmured another "congratulations", before taking a cab back to her place.

Edith had just walked through the door when her mobile began to ring. Knowing the number right away, she answered, "Don't tell me you had to cancel our plans?" She tried to sound like she was joking, but in truth, she couldn't imagine a bigger disappointment right now.

Anthony chuckled. "No, but I am getting out early, and thought, assuming you're finished with the fitting, we could take an earlier train?"

Edith smiled at this and even though he couldn't see her, was eagerly nodding her head. "Yes, please, that sounds wonderful."

Anthony heard the relief in her voice, but he also, no doubt, could hear the stress in it too. "Everything alright, my sweet?"

_My sweet._ That was his little endearment for her, and it always made Edith smile and caused her toes to curl, just slightly. Oh how could she feel despondent when he was so attentive and caring?

"Yes…" she answered, both in answer to him, as well as a reminder to herself that everything truly _was_ alright—better than that, everything was wonderful. "Yes," she repeated, smiling into the phone. "Sybil's engaged."

There was a pause and Anthony finally murmured, "Oh?"

Edith bit her lip. Oh dear, the last thing she wanted was to scare him off or make him feel uncomfortable, as if she were now expecting him to do the same. "Yes, it happened today!" she happily told him, doing her best to sound happy for her sister, without any expectation from her end. "Poor Mary, I think she was a bit overwhelmed by the news; but it is wonderful, and I do like Tom, and all I can hope is that Sybil's taste in gowns is better than Mary's—not that her choices weren't lovely, but she went with crimson red, which is a lovely color, but just washes me out completely," she laughed at her own expense, but felt nervousness rise up in her chest as she realized how…quiet…he was being. "Anthony?"

"Hmm? Oh! Oh, no my sweet, you look lovely in red!" he assured, though it was obvious _he_ was now the one who sounded like he had something else on his mind.

_Bloody fantastic_, Edith irritably thought. In her efforts not to "frighten him", she had done just that. _Just pretend none of this happened_, a voice in her head told her. _Focus on the weekend, like you were going to do_. "I'm so looking forward to the concert tomorrow night!" she told him, holding her mobile between her shoulder and ear as she threw a few extra items into her suitcase. Both she and Anthony were avid fans of the York Symphony, and always made an effort to attend a performance when they had these weekend getaways. "I can't make up my mind if I should take the peach gown, or the green; what do you think?"

There was another pause, and then Anthony mumbled, "Um…whichever you think is best, my sweet—I must go. But I'll see you in an hour, alright? Good; till then, my sweet," and he hung up.

Edith stood there, frozen for a moment as white noise filled her ear. What on earth…? She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself; _everything is fine, we're still on for the weekend, stop fretting and thinking something's wrong—nothing is wrong! You just surprised him, but when you see him, just…assure him how happy you are with how things are…and…and that you're satisfied with that!_

…But was she?

Edith groaned and shook her head, telling herself again that YES, she was happy and satisfied, that she didn't need to follow in the footsteps of her sisters and be engaged or have an elaborate wedding or anything of the sort. She loved Sir Anthony; he made her feel wonderful, and thought her lovely. She had started to fall in love with him the night they had their first date, and that feeling had been growing every week and every month since! She was not going to let her self-doubt and insecurity get the better of her, or ruin this weekend!

Feeling determined, Edith looked at her reflection in the mirror at her dressing table, gave a resolute nod of her head, and closed her suitcase.

She had just brought her bags downstairs, when she heard a knock at her door. Confused, Edith went to open it, and was surprised to see Anthony standing right there. "Oh! I thought you said it would be an hour—?"

"I couldn't wait," he interrupted, moving past her into the house.

Edith felt a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach, like a great weight had been dropped. She swallowed, and tried to put on a smile and not look bothered in the slightest as she shut the door and turned to face him. "Well…" she said, perhaps a bit cheerier than necessary. "I must say, I am eager to get away as well—"

She had come up to him with the intention of wrapping her arms around his shoulders and drawing herself closer, but before she could, he shook his head and stepped away, leaving her standing there rather awkwardly, and a horrible, chilly feeling washing over her. And somewhere in the back of her mind, a warning siren was going off.

She swallowed. "Anthony?" That sinking feeling from earlier felt even heavier. "Is…is everything alright?" He had his back to her…and Edith felt as if the world around her was starting to spin.

He sighed…and then turned to face her at last, and his face looked so…serious, as if he had to deliver some dire news. "I…I'm sorry for doing this to you, my sweet…" he began, his voice soft but painstakingly clear. Edith reached out to grip something, anything; she felt like she was going to be sick.

He looked down. "I…I didn't want it to be like this, but…now after learning this news about your sister—"

"Anthony!" she interrupted, trying her best to not sound hysterical. He lifted his eyes and looked back at her in surprise. "We…we're happy, aren't we?"

His brow furrowed. "Happy?"

"Yes!" she gasped, tears rolling down her cheeks, despite her best efforts. "Yes, we…we're so very happy! Nothing needs to change!"

"But it does," he insisted. "And the truth is, I've been thinking about this for quite some time—"

Thank heaven for the chair which she was standing by, because she sank right down onto it, her legs giving out and a great sob escaping her throat.

Anthony looked alarmed and quickly fell to his knees, grasping the arms of the chair and looking up at her with deep concern. "Edith! My sweet, whatever's the matter?"

"STOP!" she moaned, hating the fact that the tears were flowing quite freely down her face. "Stop…stop saying that, I am _not_ your 'sweet one', or anything like that…and…oh God, this is all my fault!" she covered her face with her hands.

Confusion filled Anthony's eyes. "Your fault? I don't understand—"

"I told you about Sybil! I told you about her and Tom getting engaged, and Mary is engaged to Matthew, and I'm the only one that isn't, and now you think that's all I care about, but it's not! I swear! I love you, I love our life together, and I'm happy, so very, very happy! I don't need to be engaged, let alone married, to know that sort of happiness—"

"Edith…" he interrupted, one of his hands rising to touch her cheek. Lord, what a sight she was. She wanted to turn away, but couldn't, not when he was looking at her so intensely. "Do you really mean that?"

She sniffled and nodded her head. "Yes," she answered. It wasn't a complete lie; of course she loved the idea of being married to him, of having a wedding and sharing his name. But this was the 21st century, not Edwardian England; there were thousands, if not millions of couples who lived happily together, _unmarried_. And that was all that mattered, what she and Anthony created, together.

The corners of his mouth lifted, though his smile looked sad. "But my sweet, _I_ don't know if that's enough…"

Her heart shattered and she opened her mouth to say something, though she wasn't sure what (perhaps echo another sob), but all manner of speech and sound died in her throat…as he reached into his coat pocket…and pulled out a black satin box.

"Lady Edith Crawley…" he began, his own voice becoming quite emotional. "You truly mean the world to me…you have given me back my life…" he took a deep breath and opened the box and Edith gasped and her hands flew to her mouth to cover it as she looked upon the beautiful diamond ring that lay within. "…Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Her answer was a kiss that stole his breath, her arms flying around his neck and pulling him towards her as she kissed him madly, deeply, her tears mingling with his own, and somewhere in the midst of those kisses, she nodded her head and managed to say, "yes!"

Their plans to get away to York for the weekend were canceled. There seemed to be little point, after failing to emerge from the house and missing two trains. Edith honestly didn't know how Sybil had managed to tear herself away from Tom after he had proposed, though she could completely understand now why her sister had been late…and Mary as well, all those months ago.

Yes, Edith Crawley had to admit, just like her two sisters, she rather loved being an engaged woman.

* * *

"Did you know he was planning this?" Mary demanded, sitting up and folding her arms across her chest as she looked at Matthew. Ever since Tom started dating Sybil, it didn't take long before he and Matthew became good friends. Matthew had even been contemplating about asking Tom to serve as his best man at the wedding, since he had sort of lost contact with his friends from Manchester.

Matthew sighed and sat up; he had been trying to coax her into relaxing after a long day, even going so far as to put on her guilty pleasure, _"The Great British Bakeoff",_ but Mary couldn't sit still. She was feeling the urge to pace, much like she had done at the bridal boutique.

"I thought you liked Tom?" Matthew asked. "I mean, I know he does like to get a rise out of you—"

"Understatement of the century," Mary muttered.

"—But I do remember you saying that you thought he was 'perfect for Sybil', and he certainly has your father's approval, which let's not forget, is a difficult thing to achieve, especially for someone who writes for an anti-Tory newspaper—"

"Oh this isn't about Tom, or whether or not I think he's 'good enough' for Sybil…but…" her voice trailed off.

Matthew arched an eyebrow. "…But?"

Mary sighed. "They've known each other for less than a year, Matthew! They've dated for…has it even been six months? They only just moved in together—"

"So if I understand you," he calmly interrupted. "What bothers you is that you feel this is…too soon?"

"Well isn't it?"

Matthew shrugged, which didn't help relieve Mary's apprehensive feelings. "Oh I see," she muttered, rising from the couch and pacing at last. "I suppose this makes me the 'mad one'."

"I didn't say that," Matthew groaned. "Mary…not every couple is the same! Some just…know! They do what feels right to them. And that sometimes works, and sadly, that sometimes doesn't."

Mary bit the inside of her cheek as she folded her arms across her body. "You mean like us?"

Matthew frowned. "What? No, not at all like us," he rose from the couch and moved across the room to her side, but she turned away before he could reach her. Matthew sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Mary…"

"We dated for two years, Matthew; we didn't even _live together_ during that period!"

"That doesn't mean our relationship was less than—"

"Then we broke up and were apart for five years, only to finally come back together after all that time—"

"Yes! Exactly! Mary…" he reached her and this time she didn't pull away, but she didn't look at him as she felt his hands cup her face. "Mary…" he repeated, his fingers gentle on her cheeks, softly caressing the skin, making it impossible not to acknowledge him. She looked up then, baring to him all the emotions that were coursing through her, showing him the vulnerability she so rarely let others see in her. "Mary," he murmured her name for a third time. "I love you…we love each other…we're engaged, and we're getting married in a few months! It took us seven years to get here, but we made it! That's all that matters. And we're stronger people too, because of the struggles we've endured."

She knew he was right, and God, she loved him for it. But at the same time, she couldn't help but feel disappointed in herself. Everything just seemed to come so easy for her sisters when it came to love and relationships; she had seen the way they were with their respective partners, and envied them that "blissful ignorance" to which she had been shaken from, when she and Matthew had been apart. Not that she ever wanted them to experience that sort of heartbreak.

"…Besides," Matthew's voice interrupted her thoughts, and she saw a lopsided grin on his face. "Who says we didn't just know that early in our relationship?"

Mary lifted an eyebrow at this. "I don't remember you coming to me with a ring six months into our relationship."

Matthew chuckled and shook his head. "No, I didn't, that's true, but…that doesn't mean I didn't want to," he confessed.

"Oh stop, you're just saying that—"

"I'm not," he insisted, his arms locking around her. "I swear it, I…I have never loved another the way I love you. And…I know, deep in my heart, I will never be happy with anyone else, as long as you walk the earth."

She gazed back at him and smiled, feeling likewise. "I think I recall you saying something similar to me on the night we had that infamous date."

"Ah, you mean the night I finally proposed?" he chuckled, pulling her closer. "Well, it bears repeating."

She smiled, and wove her arms around his shoulders, feeling at last, a sense of peace that day. She tilted her chin up and their lips were just about to meet in a sweet kiss when her mobile started buzzing on the coffee table.

Mary turned her head, and Matthew took the opportunity to nuzzle her neck and ear, but suddenly his lips were met with air when Mary wriggled free from his arms and grabbed the mobile, her eyes wide and her mouth falling open in shock.

"I don't believe it…"

Matthew frowned and tried not to show his annoyance at being interrupted by whoever had texted her. "What?"

Mary turned to him…and then lifted the mobile to his eyes so he could see the screen, and specifically, so he could see the image of Edith's left hand, now donning a large, beautifully sparkling diamond.

_"BOTH_ of my sisters got engaged on the _SAME_ DAY!"

* * *

Sybil and Edith's "blissful" weekend as newly engaged women was interrupted on Sunday by the arrival of their mother, who had taken the earliest possible train she could get, and had demanded that all three of her daughters join her for brunch at Crawley House. The three sisters did as she commanded, a sense of foreboding falling over each of them as they entered the house and were seized by their mother, hugging Edith and Sybil especially hard, before turning to Mary and embracing her, and then looking into the eyes of each of them and sighing, "all three of my babies…getting married!"

Edith blushed and Sybil giggled, while glancing at Mary who put on a smile. "Well…not just yet, Mama," Sybil was the first to speak. She took Mary's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Mary's wedding first, and…well, then Edith and I will discuss who will go next—"

"Oh, you and Tom were engaged first, you should go," Edith insisted.

"But you're older—I don't mean that badly!" Sybil was quick to defend. "I just mean that it does make some sense, Mary marries first, then you, then me."

"Yes, but…I honestly don't know how long this is going to take to plan; and Anthony's schedule is a very busy one—"

"Take all the time that you need, I…" Sybil glanced nervously at their mother. "I honestly don't know what we'll do, I mean…his family will want to be a part of it, but Tom and I are very 'simple' in our tastes, and really, something small—"

"I have the perfect solution!"

All three Crawley sisters turned to their mother, who was grinning quite madly at them.

Mary arched her eyebrows. "Mama?"

Cora Crawley continued to grin as she took Mary's hand in her left, and Edith's hand in her right, Sybil standing between her sisters, who just seemed to automatically take both their hands, as if they were going to start spinning around in a circle.

"…Why not have all of your weddings up at Downton?"

Sybil and Edith blinked, as did Mary. However, it was their mother's next sentence that truly had them stunned speechless.

"And have them all…_TOGETHER!"_

* * *

_Oh Cora... ;oP_


	4. Unofficial Stag Night

_LONG TIME, NO UPDATE! Gosh, that's embarrassing. Well, here's an update at last (is there anyone out there who still cares? *crickets chirp*) Anyway, I really wanted to offer up *something* to **M/M AU Fest Day**, so here's my attempt at that, though it's much more "bromance" than anything else, and it's a wee bit angsty, but hang in there! All will be well (eventually) ;oP_

_Because it's been so long, just to remind everyone, it's the night before the big TRIPLE wedding! Tom, Matthew, and Anthony have more or less been "banished" from Downton for the night, and so this takes place immediately after the couples have bid each other goodnight, as shown at the end of chapter one._

_I will try my hardest not to leave this one so long! AH! I am sorry, but thank you for sticking with it and reading (or re-reading) it, and for your continued patience and support. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

_Chapter Three__**  
**__**"Unofficial Stag Night"**_

The night was cool, but not unpleasant. The scent of rain filled the air, but by no means did it seem that the heavens were going to burst open. Three men exited the large manor house, the only similarity with which they shared being the situation they found themselves in: engaged to three amazing and extremely different women who happened to be sisters. And like their brides, the grooms were equally different, made even more obvious with how they looked and acted after more or less being "dismissed" from the dinner table.

Tom was the first to emerge, and of the three of them, he also appeared to be the most relaxed and jubilant. He looked up at the night sky and a large smile spread across his face. He then stretched his arms out, threw his head back, and what started as a yawn quickly became a bad attempt at a "Tarzan yell". However, he didn't look embarrassed or sorry in the slightest; he just started laughing at himself before turning his head to look back at his companions, both of whom seemed a bit…_tense_.

Matthew was the second man to exit the house. His brow was furrowed, and he looked deeply…troubled. Well, perhaps not troubled, but his mind did seem to be elsewhere, and the expression he wore wasn't that of a man on the eve before his wedding. The same could also be said for Sir Anthony Strallan, who was the last to exit. Though unlike Matthew's troubled, far-off stare, Sir Anthony simply looked anxious, an expression that was not uncommon for most grooms.

"Ah, come on, lads!" Tom called out to them, putting on a friendly smile and holding his arms out wide. "It's a beautiful night and we happen to be the three luckiest men in the world, right?"

Both Matthew and Sir Anthony looked at Tom with some bewildered surprise; however his enthusiasm was rather contagious, so despite their individual uncertain feelings, they did smile at the Irishman.

"Are you always so cheerful, Mr. Branson?" Sir Anthony asked, his tone lighthearted and curious.

Tom just smiled, though he did make a face at the rather formal way which Sir Anthony addressed him. "It's my last night as a bachelor, _Minister Strallan_," he answered, putting extra emphasis on Sir Anthony's title. "By this time, tomorrow, I'll be married to the most amazing woman in the world. How could I feel anything else?"

"_One_ of the most amazing women," Matthew emphasized, though he did return Tom's smile.

Sir Anthony also smiled, before quietly murmuring to himself, "Indeed, quite so."

Tom looked back and forth between the pair, pleased to see that they were, at the very least, starting to "loosen up" from whatever nerves they were suffering from. "Right! So, first round is on me," he announced, throwing an arm around both Matthew and Sir Anthony's shoulders, a sight which was rather comical considering that between the three of them, he was the shortest.

Sir Anthony's eyes widened. "First round?" he repeated.

Tom just nodded his head, to which Matthew laughed. "You're doing a fine job of fulfilling Irish stereotypes," he teased.

Tom simply chuckled. "You should see my brother."

"Oh I did, remember? At our stag night five days ago? Kieran brought the Monopoly board."

Sir Anthony looked a bit confused. "What's this?"

Both men turned and looked up at Sir Anthony with expressions of surprise and perhaps even, a little guilt.

Shortly after the infamous "date night" from a year ago, Tom met Matthew when he accompanied Sybil to Mary and Matthew's engagement party. In all fairness, he had also met Sir Anthony as well, but perhaps it was because both Tom and Matthew were closer in age (and shared somewhat similar views, politically speaking), the two younger men hit it off from the get-go, and quickly became friends, even to the point where they would meet and hang out minus their respective partners! Their friendship grew, and before the triple-wedding announcement, Matthew had considered asking Tom to serve as his best man. Instead, the two ended up sharing their stag night together, along with Tom's brothers.

…It had honestly never occurred to them to include their other soon-to-be brother-in-law, which they were now embarrassingly realizing.

"Oh, it's nothing," Tom muttered, trying to diffuse the awkwardness. "My brothers took both Matthew and myself on a pub crawl, almost a week ago; Kieran got it into his head that we'd follow the 'Monopoly route', but we didn't make it past Northumberland Ave," he chuckled.

Matthew groaned, his hand rising to cup his brow at the memory. "I can't believe I went along with it; I've never had a more excruciating hangover."

"At least we were wise enough to do it then and not the actual night before," Tom teased.

Sir Anthony listened and smiled and even chuckled along with them, but at the same time, he felt…rather out of place (and not for the first time). He honestly couldn't recall the last time he had been in an actual "pub", let alone partaking in something like a "pub crawl". His sister would make a face at hearing the term, and mutter words like "foolish" and "common". As for himself, he couldn't deny, it was yet another instance where he found himself wondering, _"What else have I missed out on in life?" _

…Was that a silly question to ask, for a man of fifty-three?

"Anyway, I'm not even suggesting something as 'dramatic' as that," Tom assured. "Just one drink—"

"I thought you said 'first round'?" Matthew teased.

Tom laughed. "Well, after your moaning about the stag night, I thought it best to aim lower."

Matthew did share in his friend's laughter, and couldn't deny he was grateful for it, especially after the stresses of the day. He gave a nod of his head and slapped Tom on the shoulder. "Alright, I can agree to at least one drink," he answered.

Tom grinned_. "At least_ one," he repeated with a wink, before turning and looking up at Sir Anthony, who had gone rather quiet again.

Sir Anthony seemed to realize then that the two younger men were looking at him rather expectantly, and he blushed before starting to shake his head. "I…I should probably go…"

Both Matthew and Tom began to frown. "What? No!" they both shook their heads. "No, come and join us!" Tom insisted, his arm never loosening around Sir Anthony's shoulders. "Our last night as single men; let's toast to our brides as we prepare to say good riddance to bachelorhood!"

Sir Anthony did smile at that, though a nervous lump settled in his throat. Unlike his two companions, he had been married before, so he knew what it was like, that anxiety before one's wedding day.

Of course, that anxiety had been different compared to the anxiety he felt now.

"Matthew, what was it that you said to me the other day?" Tom asked, still trying to convince Sir Anthony to join them.

"You mean about the fact that we're going to be marrying Crawley girls?" Matthew couldn't help but chuckle, though there was a hint of nervousness to it, or so Tom thought he had heard. "I said 'we're brothers-in-law; if we're mad enough to take on the Crawley girls, we have to stick together'."

"There, see?" Tom turned back to Sir Anthony. "We're brothers-in-law, or very soon will be," he said with a wink and a grin. "We need this moment, just the three of us!"

"An 'unofficial stag night'," Matthew added.

"Exactly!" Tom agreed. "So let's—"

He never got to finish his sentence, which was a shame as Sir Anthony truly looked like he was on the brink of agreement, when a shrill, "ANTHONY!" interrupted their revelry and all heads turned to see a car pulling up beside them, and a blonde head poke out from the back window.

Sir Anthony felt his face redden at the image of his sister, a disapproving scowl written across her features.

"You're _still_ here?" she asked with a deep frown. "I thought you'd be back at Locksley by now!"

Sir Anthony's face burned even more. "Margot, there's no need to shout—"

"I'm not shouting!" she insisted, her tone even more shrill (if that were possible). "I'm just…surprised, that's all." She eyed him then, in that skeptical, judging way of hers, something she had picked up from their mother. "I just thought you'd be home, resting up; I assumed you would want to look your best tomorrow."

Both Matthew and Tom frowned at the woman's words. They had only just met Sir Anthony's sister, Lady Margot, that evening, but even so, it was clear it wouldn't take more than a single encounter to formulate an opinion about the woman, which in their minds, was the opposite of positive.

Tom decided to step in then, remembering once again Matthew's words about being brothers-in-law and sticking together. "We were just heading to the pub at the Grantham Arms, where both Matthew and I are staying," Tom explained with a pleasant smile, though Lady Margot did not return the expression, she simply looked at him as if he were something to squash beneath her shoe.

"Hmmm," she wrinkled her nose before turning and looking back at her brother. "I hardly think 'drunken antics' is a good idea on the night before your wedding, do you brother?"

Sir Anthony's face grew hot. "It was just a single drink, Margot—"

Lady Margot began laughing then, as if someone had just told her the most wonderful joke. "Oh Anthony," she looked back at Tom and eyed him for a moment before turning back to her brother. "I think we know better than that."

Tom frowned and looked at Matthew. Had he just been insulted?

"Come on," Lady Margot began to scoot over. "Ride back with me!"

Sir Anthony opened his mouth, as if to protest, but looked a little unsure. He glanced at both Tom and Matthew somewhat helplessly, then back at his sister who was looking rather expectantly, her eyebrows raised in question, as if wondering why on earth he hadn't gotten into the car yet.

"I…" he swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry. He looked at Tom and Matthew again, an apologetic (and embarrassed) expression on his face. And while Tom wanted to argue the fact further, Matthew had the good foresight to spare Sir Anthony further embarrassment, and simply stepped forward to shake the older man's hand.

"Have a good night, Sir Anthony," he murmured with a friendly smile. "We'll see you tomorrow; ten o'clock, correct?" The grooms were to gather at Locksley, both for breakfast and for any "last minute" adjustments that were needed for their suits, which were already residing there.

Sir Anthony smiled and nodded his head, though it wasn't missed by either Matthew or Tom that the poor man looked anxious. Most likely due to his sister, who was starting to fume, "Anthony, it's late!"

Sir Anthony groaned and then muttered, "Coming, Margot," before looking sheepishly back at his soon-to-be brothers-in-law. Tom reached forward and grasped Sir Anthony's arm, also wishing him a good night, and even held the door open for him, chuckling to himself at the irony that he was invoking the spirit of the ancestor for whom he was named after who had once served as a chauffeur in Yorkshire just before the first world war.

As soon as Sir Anthony had gotten in and the door was shut, the car sped away, leaving both Matthew and Tom to watch as its taillights faded into the distance, their hands stuffed inside their respective pockets, and reflective looks on their faces. "Well…that still leaves us, right?" Tom said after a moment, turning and looking back at Matthew. "Still fancy that drink?"

Matthew shrugged his shoulders at first, then turned and looked at Tom, who was now looking back at him with a furrowed brow and a look of concern. "Yeah…yeah, of course," Matthew assured, forcing a smile and then patting Tom's shoulder. "I was just…thinking about Sir Anthony, that's all."

"Hmmm," Tom muttered, though he didn't add more. As far as Tom could tell, Lady Margot was an outright snob, and not just to both himself and Matthew, but it seemed to the Crawleys as well, which he did find rather ironic, considering they were a part of "her lot". Granted, he hadn't been paying that close attention during the meal to Lady Margot (from the second she sneered at the sight of his nieces and nephews being present at the table, he had lost any respect for the woman he may have bestowed upon her), but there were a few occasions when he had glanced over at Edith (whom he did get on well), and understandably, she was being polite and sweet to Lady Margot (far more than the woman deserved) and now upon further reflection…Tom couldn't help but recall the cold looks the woman was giving her, and the way her elegant eyebrows rose in assessment.

Surely that night hadn't been the first time Edith and Lady Margot had met…had it?

"I think Edith will be good for him," Matthew murmured, interrupting Tom's thoughts. Tom turned back to his friend and found himself smiling and nodding in agreement.

"Aye, and he for her—I know the first thing people see is their age difference, but honestly, they're both so alike, it just makes sense, you know?"

Tom was smiling as he said this, but he noticed that Matthew seemed to stiffen slightly, and look a bit…uneased.

"Matthew?"

"Hmm? Oh, sorry, I um…yes, I agree with you completely; Edith and Sir Anthony are perfect together, they do have a great deal in common, and I think they'll make each other very happy." Matthew smiled then, but Tom couldn't help but gaze at his friend with some concern.

"I do feel bad, I'll not deny, that we didn't think about including him on our stag night," he sighed, before biting his lip as a memory (foggy as it was) slowly resurfaced. "Though…perhaps in some ways it was for the best…" he found himself chuckling. "Don't know how the poor chap would have taken Thomas' special 'excursion' off the beaten path."

Tom groaned as he recalled his irate fiancée, glaring back and forth between his hungover self, and their mutual friend, who was trying to answer her questions about what had gone on during his and Matthew's shared stag night, while at the same time, trying desperately to assure her that "it wasn't as bad as it seemed!" which could only cause one to wonder how much worse could it be, after waking up and finding himself not only missing a shirt and having the words "BACHLOR #1" written across his chest in lipstick, but also handcuffed to Matthew who was in a near-identical state.

"You know," Matthew added after a good chuckle at the memory. "We really should stop calling him 'Sir' Anthony, don't you think?"

Tom agreed, but despite Matthew's recollection of their infamous stag night, he was still troubled by the unease he had seen on his friend's face just a few minutes before.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

Matthew seemed surprised by the question. "What?"

"Is everything alright?" Tom repeated. "I don't know, you just seem…" he wanted to pick his words carefully. "…On edge."

Matthew's face turned a dark shade of red, and he quickly looked away and picked up his pace just slightly. "Well…that's to be expected, isn't it?" he attempted to joke. "I mean…tomorrow's the big day!"

"Aye, true…" Tom murmured, though he wasn't fooled by Matthew's ill attempt at misleading him with false humor. One of the reasons he got along so well with Matthew was due to the other man's sincerity, which was why he found Matthew's present attitude so disconcerting. And Matthew, not being a stupid man, knew that Tom was seeing right through him.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, before putting on a sheepish smile. "I'm stressed," he admitted. "Just…tomorrow is the day both Mary and I have been waiting for, for…God knows how long," he added with a tired chuckle. "I'm happy it's here; _relieved_, to be honest, but…I know that until we're both walking back up that aisle, I won't stop worrying about…" he paused then, thinking better than to continue.

Of course, Tom being the inquisitive journalist couldn't let that stand. "…Worrying about?"

Matthew sighed and looked back at his friend. "Just…" he fidgeted slightly, and again ran a hand through his hair, then down over his face, pausing as it ran over the hairs of the beard he had been growing for the past five months. He suddenly remembered his parting conversation with Mary, how distant she had seemed, how…sad, she had looked. He had tried to lighten the mood and thought that perhaps by making a joke about his beard, promising to shave it off for the wedding, would make her smile (she had mixed feelings about it, at best). But that had all gone to hell, as she glared back at him, shook his hands off her, then muttered, _"you think _that's_ what's this is about?"_

"Matthew?"

Matthew looked back at Tom and quickly began to apologize for not answering him, let alone for worrying his friend. "Nothing, it's nothing, really."

"Matthew—"

"We're just stressed, that's all," Matthew assured, before once again picking up his pace and hurrying along. By this point they had reached the edge of the village, and the Grantham Arms was less than ten minutes away. It had been Violet's idea that the grooms sleep elsewhere on the night before the wedding. Sybil had rolled her eyes at the suggestion, while Mary and Edith simply pursed their lips but kept comments to themselves. Though Matthew couldn't help but wonder, maybe it was for the best? This…"trial separation"?

The second that thought entered his head, he hated himself.

"Is she upset about the wedding?"

Matthew sighed and looked back at Tom in annoyance. "Can't let it go, can you?"

Tom seemed pleased and even grinned. "Nope, reporter instincts."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "I can't imagine how Sybil manages to put up with it."

"Ah, well, it helps that I'm Irish," Tom chuckled. "She says I wouldn't be half as charming if it weren't for that."

Matthew simply snorted, though he was chuckling himself. They had reached the inn, but before entering, Tom once again reached out and touched Matthew's arm. "In all seriousness, just answer me that, and I'll let it go for the night."

"How generous of you," Matthew sarcastically muttered, yet he couldn't be angry with his friend, not when right now, Tom felt like the only friend he had. "I…honestly, I'm not sure…meaning about whether Mary is upset about the wedding—I mean, not the wedding as in 'getting married in general', at least…I hope not," he attempted to laugh, but it died quickly in his throat. "I…I just mean, I think did have her heart set on something that was just…_us_, but she won't admit it, and whenever I bring it up she just snaps at me, so I've gotten into the habit of not saying anything," he admitted. "Which I know isn't a good thing, but…" he couldn't help but look back at Tom somewhat helplessly.

Tom didn't make any jokes or faces; he simply listened, silently nodding his head at the information. "I know it was a bit of a shock…when Cora suggested the 'triple wedding'." They had all been shocked at the suggestion, but the thing that perhaps shocked Tom the most was Sybil revealing that while both she and Edith were perfectly fine saying no to their mother about the idea, it was _Mary_ who agreed and encouraged them to say yes!

Matthew nodded his head, but didn't have anything further to say, at least about that. But it was obvious there was more on his mind, from what Tom could tell. Yet he had promised that he wouldn't push further, and perhaps it was simply "pre-wedding stress" in the end?

It was just seemed so strange to Tom; they were all anxious about tomorrow, yet the anxiousness he was feeling was happy excitement, whereas with both Matthew and Sir Anthony, there seemed to be something bothering the two.

"Come on, let's get that drink," Tom encouraged as they finally entered the Grantham Arms. Matthew gave a small smile and nodded his head, following Tom directly into the pub, where only one other customer was being served—a tall, lean, dark-haired man, who turned his head upon seeing them as they entered, and whose eyes immediately widened as if he recognized them.

…Which he very well might have, as their faces were plastered on practically every tabloid.

"Good Lord, you're _them_, aren't you?" the man asked, quickly rising from his chair.

Tom and Matthew glanced somewhat wearily at each other, but put on some smiles and nodded, assuming that the man was referring to them being two of the three grooms for Britain's _"WEDDING OF THE CENTURY"._

"You're…Matthew Crawley?" the man asked, first turning to Matthew and smiling, while holding his hand out for him to shake. Matthew returned the smile, though with a bit of caution, and shook the man's hand for the sake of politeness.

The dark-haired man's grin broadened even more. "Which then makes you—" he turned to Tom, but Tom was way ahead of him, and grasped the man's hand in his own.

"Tom Branson," he answered, giving the man's hand a firm shake.

"Blimey," the dark-haired man laughed, flexing his hand when Tom released it. He let his eyes linger on Tom for just a moment longer, before taking a step back and bowing his head in a somewhat sheepish manner. "Sorry, I'm being a complete ass, I was just a bit 'star struck' if you will," he apologized. "It's just…I've been out of the country for so long, and then I come back and everywhere I go it's _'CRAWLEY WEDDING EXTRAVAGANZA!'_ and it's a lot to take in!"

Tom and Matthew exchanged a look. "Is it?" Matthew asked, folding his arms across his chest.

The dark-haired man just smiled and nodded his head. "It is, especially when the last time you saw these people, Sybil had her hair in pigtails and wore braces on her teeth," he chuckled.

Now that got their interest, especially Tom's. "You know Sybil?" he asked, not exactly sure how to respond to this bit of information.

"I do! And Edith, and Mary, and…oh God, I'm so sorry! I haven't introduced myself, have I?"

"No, you haven't," Tom muttered, to which Matthew cleared his throat, perhaps recognizing the slight edge to his voice.

"Terribly sorry," the dark-haired man apologized, before once again, extending his hand to shake. "I'm an old friend of the family's actually, and like I said, I just returned after a very long business trip abroad, and lo and behold, I go to pick up any post that hasn't been forwarded to me, and right there on the top is an invitation to the girls' wedding—"

"I'm sorry," Matthew cut in, feeling Tom's frustration at the mystery behind whoever this stranger was. "You are…?"

"Oh! Bloody hell, sorry about that, when I get started, it's hard to stop!" he laughed at himself, before finally giving them a name. "Henry Talbot, pleased to meet you."

Tom and Matthew looked at one another and then back at the dark-haired man, before smiling politely and once again, taking the man's offered hand and shaking it. "And you, Mr. Talbot," Matthew murmured.

"Oh please! Call me Henry," he insisted. "And let me buy you a drink! God, forgive me, I should have done as soon as you walked in—excuse me!" he called out to the bartender who was drying several glasses.

"That's very kind," Tom attempted to interject. "But you don't have to—"

"You're still getting married tomorrow, aren't you?" Henry Talbot asked, his brow furrowing as if he were confused by their reluctance. "Well, not to 'each other'," he laughed. "Sorry, I just realized how that sounded."

Tom and Matthew blushed, and the bartender simply raised his eyebrows.

"Aye, we—"

"Then I insist!" Henry grinned. "Scotch? Bourbon? Brandy? Whiskey?"

"Scotch," Matthew answered.

"Whiskey," Tom added.

They sat down then with the rather friendly Mr. Talbot, who looked like a child who had just met his favorite football star. It was still a bit awkward, especially after the brief, serious discussion Tom and Matthew had exchanged before entering the inn, but all that would have to wait, at least momentarily, while they indulged this supposed "friend of the Crawleys".

As soon as their drinks were given, Henry wasted no time in raising his glass in a toast. "To love and happiness; may it last those that truly deserve it, a lifetime."

Matthew and Tom exchanged a look. It was a bit of an odd toast, but the smile on Mr. Talbot's face seemed genuine and good-natured, and after all, while he said he knew the Crawleys, he didn't really know them, so in many ways, it was an appropriate toast—an honest one, because after all, who wouldn't to wish a lifetime of love and happiness on the deserving?

Matthew took a good drink from his scotch, before setting his glass down and looking directly at Henry Talbot. "So…Henry," he tried the name. "You said you've been out of the country?"

"I have," he answered, though he didn't volunteer more than that, at least not without being prodded.

"And…you said the last time you were here, Sybil was…?"

Henry started chuckling to himself. "Lord, how long ago that was. She couldn't have been more than…fifteen, surely."

Tom's eyebrows rose at this. "That's a long time," he murmured. "Just a bit over ten years—and you've been away on business this whole time?"

Henry laughed and shook his head. "No, no, the last time I saw Sybil was just before I left for Cambridge. Then I moved to London, worked there for a few years, and then went abroad."

"Doing what?" Tom asked, the inquisitive journalist at work once again.

Henry seemed to blush then. "Gracious, I feel like I'm being interrogated!" he laughed. "I think I remember reading in the papers that you're a journalist, Mr. Branson? Well, I can see that!"

Tom's smile was faint, and the look Matthew gave him was one that told him to "ease back". He didn't exactly understand why he was suddenly the one "on edge". "Sorry," he mumbled, but Mr. Talbot shook his head.

"Don't be, please," he insisted. "I imagine it's all a bit 'surreal', isn't it? Thrust into the spotlight like this? You both have probably been hounded by the press for quite some time, and then here I am, a complete stranger, talking incessantly," he paused to take a sip of his own drink (as well as to catch his breath). "Anyway, I don't mind answering your question, Mr. Branson, it's simply not something I talk about a great deal, as it usually gives people an impression."

Matthew's brow furrowed. "And what sort of impression is that?"

"Well, we'll find out when I say," he chuckled with a sigh. "Like your fiancée, Mr. Crawley, I too work for a charitable foundation that is involved in a great many philanthropy projects."

Matthew's eyebrows rose at this. "Really? And…if you don't mind me asking, what is that you do for this foundation?"

At that, Mr. Talbot blushed even further. "Well…" he chuckled somewhat bashfully. "Well…to be perfectly frank, I run it. I'm 'CEO' if you will, for 'Teddy's Heroes'."

Tom wasn't familiar with the name, but Matthew (after years of working for the Grantham Foundation) was. "I've heard of your organization," he murmured in surprise.

Henry smiled and blushed. "Then one of the few; we're still very 'young', as far as philanthropy groups go."

"True, but you've done a great deal of good in pediatric AIDS research in Africa."

Henry's blush only seemed to deepen. "Yes, well, my father spent a good portion of his life in Cape Town, and he was very moved by the plight with which children with AIDS suffered, and so supported a great many charities, but it was always his dream to start one himself," he looked down at his glass for a moment. "He passed away six years ago," he murmured.

Tom and Matthew, both of whom had also lost their fathers, immediately related, and murmured their sympathies.

"Thank you," Henry whispered, smiling sincerely at his new friends. "But…I like to think he lives on in the work we do—and I promised him I would see his dream become a reality, which is why I've been away for so long," he explained. "But I'm glad I came back when I did so I can be in attendance tomorrow, and celebrate with you both!"

Both Tom and Matthew smiled, sincerely this time, the original tension with which they had felt, seeming to have practically melted away by now.

"Well…" Tom picked up his glass and held it aloft. "I'm glad you're here too, Mr. Talbot."

Henry looked at Tom for a moment, a look of amusement on his face. "Do you really mean that?"

Tom nodded, his hostility from earlier, gone completely.

Henry smiled at this, and clinked his glass with Tom's. "Then call me 'Henry', please!" he laughed.

They all took a drink, everyone seeming to feel more at ease now, at least until Henry turned to Matthew, and asked, "Now, Mr. Crawley—"

"If we are supposed to call you 'Henry', it's only fair you call us by our names as well," Matthew insisted.

Henry grinned and started over. "Alright then, _Matthew_," he began. "The one question I have, that the papers have not made very clear to me is, are you somehow distantly related to the Crawleys up at Downton?"

Matthew blushed, as he always did when asked this question. "It's just a coincidence, honestly…though my mother thinks that perhaps there's a distant connection between my father and the sixth earl, but that's more speculation than anything else."

Henry nodded his head and took another drink. "That's fascinating, really. I mean, what are the odds?" he chuckled. "I mean, it's been a great many years since I've seen her—Lady Mary," he clarified, "so it will be interesting to see how much she's changed, but…I have to say, basing what I read in the papers about the two of you, it seemed quite…'_Austenian'_, if I may say so."

Matthew frowned slightly. "I'm sorry…'_Austenian'_?"

Henry nodded. "It's in reference to Jane Austen," he explained. "Specifically Pride and Prejudice, in terms of two people who have so little in common, coming together; 'opposites attract' if you will."

Matthew absorbed this information and slowly felt himself sink further and further into his seat.

_Two people who have so little in common…_

"So tell me, Tom," Henry turned to the Irishman. "Is Sybil still political?"

Tom chuckled and nodded his head. "She is, the proud lefty in the family," he said with pride.

Henry laughed. "Glad to know some things never change. Well, I suppose it's no wonder to imagine how the both of you came together."

Matthew flinched then, as if he had experienced a shock of static electricity. He surprised the other two by rising then and taking a step away. "I…I um…I think I'll head up now," he explained. "Quite knackered, really."

Tom looked at Matthew with concern and started to rise himself, but Matthew waved his hand, trying to assure Tom to stay where he was. "No, it's alright, finish your drink," he assured. "I'll see you in the morning…and don't forget, we're expected up at Locksley at ten."

Tom smiled and nodded, though he still couldn't help but feel a little worry for his friend.

Matthew turned back to Henry, and once again shook the man's hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Henry. Thanks for the drink."

"My pleasure!" Henry answered, completely oblivious, it seemed, to Matthew's sudden distress, which was just fine as far as Matthew was concerned. The less said, the better.

On the night before the so-called _"WEDDING OF THE CENTURY",_ three grooms went to bed in as different manners as their personalities. One was blissfully happy and so looking forward to the next day that it was near impossible for him to sleep. Another tossed and turned, struggling to sleep because of all the worries that weighed upon his heart. And the third simply lay in his bed for a good portion of the night, staring up at the ceiling and wondering to himself…could he do it?

* * *

_DUN! DUN! DUN!_


	5. Unofficial Hen Night

_Look! I updated again! That's TWICE this summer :oP I'm on a roll ;o)  
_

_A *BIG* thank you to everyone who reviewed and read the last chapter; very glad to know that this story hasn't been forgotten and that you all are enjoying it still :o) This is my *late* contribution to **Andith Fest 2015**, which was actually a week ago, but due to all sorts of reasons, I wasn't able to get this finished until now. But better late than never! And because this is ultimately a "STEAMM" story, yes the other couples will feature. And while there is a bit of angst, just trust in me, all will be made well (and explained) in the end ;oP_

_So last chapter we hung out with the boys, and now it's time to see what the girls are up to! I hope you do enjoy and thank you again for reading and taking the time to share your thoughts! And without further ado..._

* * *

_Chapter Four  
__**"Unofficial Hen Night"**_

Elsewhere in Downton, at the Abbey itself, three brides were having a little get-together of their own, an "unofficial hen night", held in the eldest sister's bedroom.

While Mary was hostess to this gathering, she wasn't exactly "present"; she was physically there, sitting quietly on her bed and looking down at the floor in what one might suppose was amusement at her two younger sisters who were sitting there and laughing, but upon closer inspection they would see that her mind was a million miles away.

"Alright, my turn, my turn!" Sybil laughed as she grabbed the pink dice from Edith's hand and gave it a good shake before rolling the tiny cubes to see what came up. "SIX!" she giggled, and then quickly moved her game piece along the board.

"Where did you find this again?" Edith asked, referring to the rather racy board game they were playing.

"Gwen told me about it; she saw it at an Ann Summers shop in Piccadilly—oh don't give me that look, Edith," Sybil groaned at the rather wide-eyed, red-faced expression her sister wore at this bit of news. "None of us are entering our wedding nights as 'blushing virgins', and we all know amongst the three of us, who puts out for the first date."

"Sybil!" Edith hissed, her red face burning even hotter at her younger sister's accusation…which in all fairness, was completely true. Who would have suspected that Edith Crawley, known as the "painfully shy one" when they were children, would have done something that neither her elder or younger sister had done before?

"Ah ha!" Sybil announced, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she read the card pertaining to the space she had landed on the board game. "Each player is to reveal the most outrageous place she and her groom-to-be had sex. Winner gets five points."

"_Only_ five points?" Edith questioned with a deep frown.

"That's what it says," Sybil said with a shrug. "And to 'make it fair', we'll say that players cannot vote for themselves," she added.

"Oh, how _generous_ of you," Edith muttered with a roll of her eyes.

Sybil simply beamed. "Shall I go first?" she asked with an "innocent" flutter of her lashes.

"I'm not exactly sure I want to hear your answer," Edith admitted.

"Only because you know you can't top it," Sybil teased.

Edith's eyes widened. "So sure of yourself, are you? This coming from someone who 'doesn't put out' on the first date—"

"Then prove it!" Sybil playfully taunted, poking her tongue out for good measure.

Edith made a face, and then snatched the card out of her sister's hand, as if checking the fine print. "Does it…does it have to be full-on 'sex'?"

Sybil's eyes widened at this little bit of information. "Oooohhhh Edith, what did you _do!?"_

Edith's face was bright red all over again, but there was a little wicked smile of her own, curling at the corners of her lips. "Well…we were attending a performance of the York Symphony Orchestra back in April, and…" she bit her lip and looked down, rather bashfully. "Well, let's just say that the French horn wasn't the only instrument being 'blown'."

"EDITH!" Sybil gasped, before throwing her head back and laughing wildly, while clapping her hands. "Oh my GOD, I…well done!" she giggled, to which her sister was brighter than a traffic light, her face buried in her hands, but giggles also escaping her lips.

"Were you in a box?" Sybil asked, after she had managed to get a hold of herself.

Edith groaned at the question. "Of course we were in a box! You know Anthony has box seats—"

"Hmmm, now see, I don't know if that qualifies you for five points; had you been out in the open—"

"SYBIL!" Edith exclaimed. "It was a PUBLIC place, there were people around, I'm not a full on exhibitionist, unlike _some people_ it seems—"

"Neither am I!" Sybil quickly defended, though she was clearly enjoying getting a rise out of her sister.

Edith rolled her eyes. "Well go on, what's your story?"

"I thought you didn't want to hear it?"

"Oh don't be coy now," Edith groaned. "I shared, so you have to share too!"

Sybil laughed. "Alright, my answer is…" she paused, clearly needing to give this some careful thought. Edith simply rolled her eyes again. "OH! I know," Sybil proudly grinned. "On his desk."

Edith frowned. "His desk? You mean…" she blushed at the thought. "You mean his _work_ desk!? _At his office!?"_ she hissed, as if someone were eavesdropping.

Sybil shook her head. "No, not yet at least," she giggled. "His _school_ desk."

"School desk? But…but how—?"

"Last Christmas!" Sybil giggled. "When I went to Dublin with him? He gave me a tour of his childhood, including his old school—it was closed for the holidays, but we managed to break in, and he showed me his old school room and the desk where he sat and gazed at the back of some girl who he had a crush on, and well, I _had_ to 'stake my claim'—"

"Alright, alright, I don't need a vivid picture," Edith groaned. "But I still think my story is better; you may have broken into a building, but it was still abandoned, whereas we were in public—"

"Then we'll have to let Mary be the deciding vote now, won't we?" Sybil poked her tongue out. "And I'm sure she and Matthew have done it in many an 'exotic locale'," she teased, before turning to her eldest sister.

Mary didn't answer. Mary didn't even seem to react.

Sybil frowned. "Mary?" She reached out and gently touched her sister's leg, which was dangling over the side of the bed near her. Mary gave a bit of a start, then blinked and looked at her sisters as if seeing them for the first time.

"What?" Mary blinked, then gave a shake of her head and cleared her throat. "Sorry, I was…um, what was it that you asked?"

"You mean you didn't hear any of that?" Edith asked, looking both surprised and a bit skeptical.

Mary frowned. "Why don't just tell me? Far be it from me to let you pass up the opportunity to feel superior," she muttered.

Edith did frown at that, but Sybil was quick to step in and keep things calm, as she had so often done during their childhood. "Alright, no need to get one's feathers ruffled," she said with a bit of teasing note in her voice. "We're just playing the game, Mary, that's all."

Edith nodded. "The question asked for players to name the most 'unique places' they ever had sex," she then added, "with their soon-to-be grooms."

Mary scowled at Edith's possible insinuation, but without blinking an eye, grabbed her wine glass and brought it to her lips, before answering, "In the stables, here at Downton." She then added, after taking note of her sisters' wide eyes, "and yes, Edith, it _was_ with Matthew."

"Wow," Sybil laughed after a moment. "I'm just surprised you did it in the stables, full stop! I mean, I know you like horses and riding—"

"Sybil," Mary said in a warning tone.

"Were the horses there?"

"Edith!"

"I'm not _implying_ anything, I'm just curious if the horses were in the stables along with you and Matthew while—"

"Need I remind you both that this is MY room and I allowed you to come in here with your silly game—"

"Is everything alright?"

Sybil's rather abrupt question startled Mary, even more so than Edith's cheeky one about the horses. Edith had been teasing Mary, but she seemed to realize then upon Sybil's question that perhaps something was troubling her older sister. She turned and looked up at Mary, and seemed to notice then that perhaps there was something on the eldest girl's mind.

"I…" Mary swallowed and then forced a smile. "Of course! Of course everything's fine…tomorrow is our wedding day, after all."

Sybil didn't look convinced, nor did Edith for that matter.

Mary sighed and rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, honestly, just…just tired…and…well, and stressed about tomorrow—but that's to be expected!" she was quick to add. "I imagine what I'm feeling is not very different to what most brides feel on the night before her wedding, right?"

Sybil and Edith exchanged a look, then glanced back at their sister who was looking at them rather expectantly then. "Right," Edith was the one to answer, forcing a smile of her own. She nudged Sybil's arm, and the youngest Crawley sister mumbled an affirmative, though she didn't look satisfied by Mary's explanation.

"Um…would you like us to go then?" Edith offered, trying to keep things light-hearted and as stress-free as possible.

Mary surprised both of her sisters then by shaking her head. "No…no, let's…let's play this game of yours; what was the question again?"

"I think you win this round," Edith offered. "Even if there were no horses present, the fact that you were in a place that _smelled_ like horses—"

"I don't know, I mean I do think there's something to be said about you giving a blowjob during a concert," Sybil giggled.

"_WHAT!?"_ Mary practically choked on her wine. She really hadn't been listening earlier.

"You know, I'm rather disappointed that the most 'unique' setting I could think of was Tom's old school," Sybil muttered, putting on a pout. "Anyway, I'm splitting the vote and saying you both can share the points," she sighed, before handing the dice over to her sisters.

They played a few more rounds, passing the wine back and forth, giggling all the more until finally they just couldn't go any further because they couldn't stop laughing while attempting to read the cards. By then it was well past midnight, and Mary, who had shared in the laughter and seemed to be a bit more at ease, announced that it was time they should all go to bed.

"We should build a tent with sheets!" Sybil giggled. "And sleep inside it like we did when we were little!"

"Oh God, Sybil, it's far too late for that," Mary groaned, wrestling the wine bottle from her youngest sister's hands. "Go to your room and get some sleep—you're going to need it for tomorrow."

Sybil just laughed. "Oh please, don't you remember what Edith said at dinner?" she threw her arm somewhat drunkenly around Edith's shoulders. "No sleep tonight…OR TOMORROW!"

Mary sighed and looked to Edith for some help. Edith bit her lip to keep her giggles at bay and nodded her head, before putting both of her hands on Sybil's shoulders and doing her best to direct the youngest Crawley girl out of the room. "Mary's right, we all need our beauty rest for tomorrow. Isn't the photographer coming at eleven?"

Mary groaned and nodded. "Yes, and the stylists Anna booked will be here at half-past nine, so Sybil—SYBIL!" Mary was practically snapping her fingers at her sister in an attempt to get her to focus. "You need to be up, showered, and ready to go at half-past nine, understand? And get some breakfast too."

"We should get some breakfast now!" Sybil gasped. "We should sneak downstairs to the kitchen and make pancakes!"

"Oh Lord," Mary groaned. She had forgotten that when Sybil got drunk, she became overly happy and energized. "Bed!" she ordered, trying her best to look like the stern, fearsome older sister that she was.

Sybil sighed and muttered a "Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine," before turning at last to leave the room, but just before she left, she did turn back around and reached out to Mary, startling the eldest Crawley sister by the sudden fierce hug she was receiving. "You promise me everything is fine?"

Mary frowned. "Sybil—"

"I mean it, Mary!" Sybil burrowed her face into her sister's shoulder, her voice slightly muffled, but still understandable. "If you want, I will go to everyone tomorrow and say 'Tom and I are eloping to Gretna Green'…or someplace like that, just so you and Matthew can have the day to yourselves."

Mary's face went bright red and she wondered if Edith had heard Sybil just then, imagining that she wouldn't necessarily be too pleased with Sybil's offer to postpone _her_ marriage to Sir Anthony, along with her own. Though when she glanced at Edith then, who was staring back at the sight of Sybil and Mary hugging and looking a bit unsure on whether to try and pry Sybil away, or perhaps to join in the hug, Mary could tell that Edith had indeed heard Sybil's words…but instead of looking indignant or offended, she looked rather…understanding.

Mary sighed and gave a shake of her head, before gently (but firmly) coaxing Sybil away. "How much wine did you drink, honestly?"

"I'm not _that_ drunk!" Sybil protested. "And I'm serious, Mary—!"

"Darling, I know, but you're being silly," Mary assured. She gave Sybil a smile then, a genuine smile, and leaned in to kiss her baby sister's brow. "You're very sweet—both of you," she added, turning and smiling at Edith. It wasn't often that Mary and Edith showed affection to one another, but deep down, they were sisters and they did love each other. "Tomorrow isn't simply my day…it's our day, and…and I honestly wouldn't have it any other way."

Sybil did smile at that, though it was faint. She then threw her arms around Mary once more, causing her sister to stumble slightly. "Oh for heaven's sake, Sybil!" Mary groaned, just managing to regain her balance before toppling backwards. Still, she did welcome the embrace, and giggled softly as Sybil unceremoniously reached out, while keeping one arm firmly around Mary, and grabbed hold of Edith, pulling her into the unexpected group hug.

Mary and Edith exchanged a knowing smile with a little roll of the eyes, before hugging one another and their baby sister back, just as tightly as she hugged them. Eventually, Sybil did loosen her hold, and with an arm firmly around Sybil's shoulders, Edith led her sister out of Mary's room, murmuring a soft goodnight as they went.

Mary smiled and quietly shut the door, and then did something she hadn't done in years, not since she was a teenager living at the Abbey; she locked her door.

It wasn't because she "feared for her safety", or because she wanted to keep her sisters out (though she had a feeling that Sybil very well might sneak back in if she could) but simply because…she needed some time to herself.

Tomorrow was her wedding day…

After three years of dating, then enduring five years apart, then being thrown back together just a year ago, and getting engaged, and planning for this day for months and months…tomorrow she was finally marrying Matthew.

This was what she wanted! What she had wanted for…years, really! What she had been hoping and expecting back when they were dating, before the break-up. After all that time, tomorrow she and Matthew were finally getting married!

…So why was she feeling so miserable?

Mary groaned and flopped back onto her bed, closing her eyes and biting the inside of her cheek to keep the tears that were stinging the backs of her eyelids at bay. This was not at all how she imagined she would feel on the night before her wedding. _And Matthew thinks it's about that stupid beard!_

She sat up, and took several large, deep breaths. Oh, if only it were about his beard. If only it were that simple…

The truth of the matter was…she knew, deep in her heart, why she was miserable. She knew…and the reason was lying just a few feet away, hidden inside her suitcase.

_I should tell him…he needs to know, he has a right to know. _She was being selfish, keeping this from him, she knew that. But at the same time, she was terrified at what the truth would bring, and now here she was, on the night before her wedding, and she had waited too long! Because while she knew she should tell him, at the same time, _how_ could she tell him? How could she bring _that_ up, on their wedding day?

Mary muttered a curse as her eyes betrayed her, and the tears she had been fighting so hard to keep from falling, slipped down her cheeks.

The papers would have a field day if they could see her now.

"_Lady Mary 'Cold-hearted'-Crawley:  
contrary to popular belief, her tears aren't made of ice after all."_

Despite what the tabloids said, she did have a heart. She knew that better than anyone. Because right now, it was breaking.

* * *

"I'm worried about Mary…" Sybil mumbled as she and Edith walked down the corridor towards their old rooms.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Edith tried to reason. She wasn't entirely convinced, and did think, despite what Mary had said, that their sister wasn't entirely thrilled about being "forced" to share the spotlight of her wedding day with her two younger sisters.

"She and Matthew seemed a bit…'off' this evening," Sybil went on.

Edith frowned. "Off?"

Sybil nodded. "Didn't you notice? How 'tense' they both looked? And Mary hardly looked at him during dinner tonight."

Edith sighed, not exactly sure what to say. "Well…maybe it's his beard?"

"His beard!?"

Edith nodded. "I've heard Mary complain about it before; maybe she thinks it's too 'scruffy' looking for the wedding?"

Sybil made a face and shook her head. "Mary can be a snob about many things, but I don't think something like Matthew's beard would affect her to the point where she could barely look at him, or distract her, as she clearly was this evening. _Something_ is on her mind, that much is obvious!"

"It's probably like she said," Edith soothed. "She's feeling stressed about tomorrow, and can we blame her? You know how much of a perfectionist she is! And besides, aren't YOU stressed about tomorrow?"

Sybil looked at Edith as if she had grown a second head. "No; why, are you?"

Edith sighed and rolled her eyes. "Personally, I think it's perfectly normal for a bride to feel a little stress on the night before her wedding."

Sybil just shrugged her shoulders. "I was more stressed about Tom's relatives having to endure Lady Margot's company at dinner this evening."

"Be nice," Edith warned, though her tone was light-hearted. "That's my future sister-in-law you're talking about."

"Ugh, I know, and I don't envy you."

Edith tried to look stern at Sybil, but deep down…she couldn't help but share her sister's feelings about the woman. Tonight had been her second meeting with Anthony's sister, the first having been a special tea held at her grandmother's home just a little over a month ago. Lady Margot traveled a great deal, and was rarely in the country. But she did come back for this tea, to meet the woman who would be marrying her brother, as well as the rest of the Crawleys, or rather, the Crawley women.

Sybil had been there, and it was more than obvious to Edith that her sister couldn't stand the woman, especially after making some comment about Tom's profession as a "left-footed propagandist" who no doubt saw a golden opportunity for his "rag", in marrying into a known Tory family.

It was so strange (and disappointing), that first meeting with Lady Margot. Anthony was so sweet and polite, and a true gentleman. She knew his family came from "old money" as her own had, but…even so, she had a hard time understanding how a man as lovely as Anthony could have a sister who was so…so…

"I'm sure she improves upon better acquaintance," Edith mumbled, more so for her own sake than for Sybil's. She and Lady Margot still hadn't had a chance to sit and "properly" talk, despite that tea at Granny's, and she was both curious and terrified to know what the woman thought of her.

Sybil sighed and glanced at Edith with what could only be described as sympathy. The look screamed _"for your sake, I hope so,"_ but Sybil didn't say the words. Instead, she forced a rather goofy looking grin, then gave her sister's shoulder a playful nudge, before saying, "well, it's not like you have to live with the woman; she'll no doubt go back to her 'jet-setting' lifestyle when this is all over."

Edith couldn't deny, deep in her heart, she very much hoped this to be true.

They reached Sybil's door then, but Edith suddenly didn't feel like facing the rest of the night alone. The butterflies which had been stirring in her belly all day were beginning to flap rather wildly now. She wasn't scared or anything like that, just…excited. I'm getting married tomorrow!

"Do you want to come to my room for a little bit?" Edith asked, looking at Sybil expectantly. "We can just sort through the cards in your game," she giggled.

Sybil giggled back but shook her head. "No, I should get going."

Edith frowned. "Going?"

Sybil nodded and turned into her room, quickly looking for her boots which she had kicked off after arriving at Downton earlier. She paused for a moment to look at her reflection in a mirror, checking her teeth especially, before shrugging her shoulders once more, and tugging her boots on, then grabbing a jumper and throwing it over her lavender-colored pajama top. Sybil gave Edith a wink as she slipped past her and quietly started to shut the door. "Don't wait up for me," she whispered.

Edith's mouth fell open. "You're going _out!?"_

Sybil giggled and held a finger up to her lips. "Shh! Grandmama is just a few doors down!"

"Where?" Edith asked, although the answer was obvious. "You're going to see Tom? _TONIGHT!?"_

Sybil giggled and simply nodded her head.

"But…but it's the night before the wedding! You're not supposed to—"

"Oh Edith, do you honestly believe in that nonsense?" Sybil asked her.

Edith wasn't quite sure how to respond. "Granny says it's unlucky—"

"It's a stupid superstition that has no place today, especially when all of us have _already_ slept with our future husbands."

Edith blushed deeply and glanced nervously back down the corridor, as if expecting someone to mysteriously appear and arrest her sister for "breaking tradition".

"I'll be back bright and early," Sybil promised, reaching out and squeezing Edith's hand. "Well before the stylists arrive."

Edith sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to stop her sister. "Just see that you do. And don't expect me to make excuses for you if you don't, I'll deny the whole thing!"

Sybil laughed and leaned forward to kiss her sister's cheek. "Goodnight!" she whispered, before turning and practically skipping down the corridor, taking a side staircase that was used by Downton's servants, back when the house was a fully operating manor.

Edith sighed and shook her head. Sometimes she envied her younger sister; her carefreeness and fearlessness. Both Mary and Sybil seemed so confident, so sure of themselves and what they wanted. Mary could easily command a room and step into the role of "leader" without batting an eyelash, and Sybil, who always marched to the beat of her own drummer, could just shrug her shoulders and wave her hand at anyone who disapproved of her actions or opinions. She was going to do things her way, and if the world didn't like it, then to hell with them.

Where Mary and Sybil were extroverted, Edith was introverted. What seemed to come so easily and naturally for her sisters, always felt like a great task and chore for Edith. She felt she had gotten better as she had gotten older, but even after all these years, Edith still felt like she was playing catch-up with Sybil and Mary.

…Anthony was the only person with whom she felt she didn't have to "catch-up" or "prove herself" to. Yes, he was older, but things just felt so…_right_, so natural and at ease with him. Talking to him, being with him, it was so easy to do. When she was with him, her shyness melted away, and she felt brave, confident, and…peaceful.

_I'm getting married tomorrow…_

Many girls dreamed of their wedding day, and Edith had been no exception. She had never had any "grand plans", she just imagined herself in a beautiful gown, floating down the aisle towards her future husband, taking his hand, smiling up at him, murmuring her vows of love and commitment, listening to him murmur his back, and then after an exchange of rings and kisses, celebrating their marriage with a dance.

Frank Sinatra's _"You Make Me Feel So Young"_ had become a favorite of theirs. It had started as a bit of a joke, really; they had been having dinner together at Locksley one weekend, and the song came up on radio, which was softly playing in the background. Anthony teased that this song had been designed for him, for them, and without further ado, held his hand out to Edith, asking her to abandon her meal for the moment and dance with him. They both laughed, Edith especially as Anthony made somewhat "over-dramatic" sweeping steps, even going so far as to dip her (twice), but by the song's end, as their laughter died down, Anthony gazed at her and murmured, _"it's true, you know…you do, you truly do…" _and then he added after a moment, his forehead leaning against hers, his voice so soft, but so clear, _"you've given me back my life."_

That was Edith's only "requirement" for tomorrow, that when she and Anthony's dance would be to Sinatra's _"You Make Me Feel So Young"._ Granny, Mary, their mother…she'd let them arrange everything else, just so long as she and Anthony could take their first steps as a married couple to their song.

Edith sighed, wistful and happy. And her mind went back to her father's speech that evening, about how he had found her in the Downton ballroom when she was a child, dancing with her imaginary husband.

_Only tomorrow, it won't be imaginary!_

She giggled and beamed at the thought, and then feeling rather carefree like her sister, decided to float down the stairs herself, and sneak into that newly polished ballroom which tomorrow would be filled with guests, and have one last dance with her invisible partner.

She had just passed the library on her way to the ballroom when she noticed the door was ajar, and a light was on inside. She paused, her brow furrowing with curiosity. Was her father still awake? He was the only person she could imagine being in there. She tip-toed to the door and gave it a gentle push, poking her head inside. "Papa?" she whispered.

Someone moved at the far end of the room, stirring in one of the chairs. Edith frowned, having difficulty seeing them due to the dim lighting. "Papa?" she repeated.

"No, my dear," a voice answered. _A woman's voice_. Edith felt her breath catch as she watched the woman rise from her chair and put the book she had been reading down. "I would have thought, because of your age, that your eyesight would be better," the woman teased.

Edith stared back at the approaching figure of her soon-to-be sister-in-law.

And just like that, the carefree confidence she had been feeling mere moments ago, vanished completely.

* * *

Tom hesitated for a moment outside the door to his room. Just two doors down was Matthew's room, and despite what he had said, Tom couldn't push away this worry that something was troubling his friend.

But it was too late to talk now, and no doubt Matthew was asleep. Tom glanced at his watch, his vision only _somewhat_ blurry based on the amount of whiskey he had consumed downstairs with his new "friend", Mr. Henry Talbot. It was nearly 1am, and he really should get some sleep. He sighed, and decided to wait until the morning before attempting to speak with Matthew further. And maybe things would be better by then? Maybe it really was just stress connected to the big day?

After digging around in his pocket, Tom found his room key and unlocked the door. He had to shove his shoulder against it to get it to open (something the innkeeper had warned him about), but it did open and Tom stumbled inside, just slightly. He chuckled at himself, gave a shake of his head, and then hit the light switch by the door, before shutting it behind him.

The room felt cooler. He looked over his shoulder and noticed that the curtains were fluttering softly. Had he left the window open? He didn't recall…

"Enjoying a nightcap, Mr. Branson?"

"Jesus!" Tom whirled around, his eyes wide and his heart in his throat as he stared at the surprising (and gorgeous) image of his fiancée, emerging like a goddess from beneath the blankets of his bed.

"It's 'Sybil', actually," she teased. "And I'm rather insulted that you didn't notice I was here, right away," she said, a playful pout forming on her lips.

Tom swallowed, his heart slowly returning to normal. "You honestly surprised me, love, I…I was not expecting…" his words trailed off as he began to notice more things, specifically her clothes, strewn about the floor. He lifted his eyes back to her, and she was grinning back at him, the sheets snug just so around her bosom, but her shoulders wonderfully bare, leaving very little to the imagination.

His trousers were suddenly feeling quite tight.

"How…how did you…?"

"Drain pipe," Sybil answered with ease.

Tom's eyes practically bulged from his skull. "You climbed the drain pipe!?"

Sybil giggled and proudly nodded her head. Tom crossed the room then and stuck his head out the window, his eyes just widening further as he took in the sight of the rusty old pipe that Sybil had used to ascend to his room. "Jesus, love, you could have fallen—"

"But I didn't," she interrupted.

Tom turned back to face her, preparing to continue his "scolding" of her putting her life at risk just to sneak into his room, but the words died in his throat as Sybil sat up, allowing the sheet to fall to her waist.

"I…" Tom swallowed, forcing his eyes back up to hers (with some difficulty). "…W-w-why are you here, love?" he stammered.

Sybil sighed and stretched her arms over her head. "I should think _that_ was rather obvious."

_ Minx,_ Tom thought, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I thought it was 'bad luck' for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?"

"Well that depends if you truly do believe in such things," Sybil muttered, and deciding she needed to "up" her tactics, began to push the blankets down her body, and stretch her bare legs as well.

Tom's eyes followed, a groan escaping his throat as more beautiful, creamy skin was revealed. "God, Sybil…" he moaned, then forced his eyes back to her face. "Does anyone know that you're here?"

Sybil giggled and shook her head. "No—well, that's not entirely true, Edith knows, but she won't tell."

"As if that worries you," he chuckled.

"This is the 21st century, not Edwardian, England; a majority of married couples have slept together before getting married."

"And on the night before their wedding too, do you think?"

"If you want me to leave, then I will—"

Tom crossed the room in two strides and was on the bed in an instant. "I didn't say that," he quickly assured, his arms wasting no time in weaving around her body.

Sybil grinned and snuggled closer, her fingers already at work in undoing the buttons on his shirt. "Good," she murmured, her lips grazing his chin. "Because as silly as this might sound…this is our last night as 'confirmed bachelors'—"

"Or 'bachelorettes'; I don't mind the feminine pronoun."

Sybil kissed him to silence him, and Tom too happily complied.

"As I am trying to say—"

"You've been drinking; I can taste the merlot on your lips."

"Oh, and that's not whiskey I smell on your breath? You and Matthew seeking some 'liquid courage' for tomorrow—?"

"Actually, Matthew went to bed hours ago; my drinking partner was an old friend of yours."

Sybil paused in her work of undressing Tom at these words. "Old friend?"

"Of your family's," Tom explained. "Do you remember a 'Henry Talbot'?"

Sybil's brow furrowed even more. She repeated the name, trying to put a face to it. "I…yes, yes, I do remember…though it's been years since I've seen him—"

"You were still in school when he last saw you, or so he said. And I don't mean Uni."

Sybil nodded. "Yes…yes, he was one of Mary's old boyfriends."

Tom's eyes widened a bit at this. Henry had conveniently left _that_ piece of information out of his introduction.

"He's here?" Sybil asked, drawing his attention back. "At the Grantham Arms?"

Tom nodded. "Apparently he got an invitation to the wedding and decided to come. He's been out of the country for—"

"But I didn't even think he and Mary were keeping in touch! I mean, like I said, it's been YEARS, Tom, and while it wasn't a bad break-up, I don't remember them necessarily parting as good friends, either. They just…parted." Sybil was biting her lip in deep concentration. "I can't imagine why now, after all this time, he's here. Nor can I understand why he was invited in the first place!"

Tom was starting to regret bringing the matter up, only because it seemed to have a distracting effect on Sybil's intention for being there.

"You don't think he's going to try anything, do you?" Sybil asked, looking at her fiancé with wide and concerned eyes.

"Try something?"

She nodded. "Like…I don't know, stop the wedding?"

Now it was Tom's turn to look surprised. "I…I don't think so," he tried to assure. "I mean, the guy seemed friendly and was very 'congratulatory' to both myself and Matthew—and he didn't say anything to either of us about having once 'dated Mary', just mentioned that he was a good 'friend of the family', that's it."

"But still…" Sybil bit her lip. She looked genuinely worried. "You'll keep an eye out, won't you? Please? I mean, I'll tell Mary what you told me, just so she's prepared—"

"Love…" Tom lifted his hands to cup her face. "I'm sure everything will be fine; I don't think he's come to try and stop Mary and Matthew from getting married, honestly," he kissed her forehead, attempting to smooth the worry lines. "However," he murmured, looking deeply into her eyes. "If it would put your mind at ease, I promise to keep a look out for anything 'suspicious', alright?"

Sybil smiled at that and nodded her head. "Thank you," she murmured. "And…and I'm sure you're right, it's just that Mary is so stressed about tomorrow, I'd hate for something or someone to try and ruin the day—"

"It won't; he won't," Tom assured, kissing her softly then. He smiled to himself at the feel of Sybil's lips curling and smiling against his own. The sudden worry and agitation she had shown a few seconds ago seemed to disappear. And it seemed that his suspicions about Mary and Matthew were correct as well, that it was just stress about the upcoming day, and possibly being forced to "share the spotlight" with two other couples.

"And you?" he found himself asking. "You're not 'stressed' about tomorrow?"

Sybil giggled, a beautiful blush coloring her face. "Edith asked me that very question earlier. And…actually, to be honest, I…I'm not. Is that strange?"

Tom thought about it for a moment, and then shook his head, grinning back at her. "I would find it stranger, learning that Mary wasn't stressed about tomorrow, than you, love."

"Well, maybe it helps that I don't allow these so-called 'superstitious traditions' to have any power over me?" she offered, weaving her arms around his neck and pulling him back down to her. "And studies show that sex is a great stress reliever."

Tom cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Medical studies?"

"Of course!" Sybil grinned. "I am a doctor, after all."

"Well, far be it from me to turn down good, medical advice," he growled, before kissing her deeply, Sybil giggling and moaning as she helped him finally divest the last of his clothes.

Just as it was for the three grooms, each bride spent the night before her wedding in different circumstances as well. For one, it was happy and carefree, while for another it was grim and full of uncertainty. And for another…the anxiety was only just beginning.

* * *

_UH OH! :oP_


	6. The Tea

_Thanks again for all the reviews and feedback! This is my contribution for **EAST Alliance Day 2015**; while technically this is a STEAMM fic, there are some heavy moments between Sybil and Edith especially, so I think it counts :oP This is also another "flashback" chapter, where we see how that infamous tea went down, when Edith first met her future sister-in-law. So it's a *bit* angsty, but you know me, all will end well...eventually ;o)_

_Anyway, *THANK YOU* for reading and I hope you enjoy, and happy EAST day!_

* * *

_Chapter Five_  
_**"The Tea"**_

_Almost two months ago…_

Edith chewed on her bottom lip as she gazed at the cards before her, lost in concentration and not realizing that her fiancé, who was sitting next to her in the driver's seat, had momentarily taken his eyes off the road to glance at whatever it was she was reading.

"Are those…notecards?"

Edith looked up then, somewhat shaken from her thoughts. "What?"

Anthony did his best to keep his eyes on the road, while at the same time glancing back at her. "What you're reading," he explained, indicating with a slight movement of his chin. "What's on there?"

Edith could feel heat flooding her cheeks. "Just…just some information I'm trying to memorize," she mumbled, before burying her nose back into her cards.

Anthony frowned. "What information?" When she didn't answer him right away, he glanced at her and out of the corner of her eye, Edith could see realization dawning on his face. "Is this about Margot?"

The jig was up, as her mother would say. Edith sighed and put the cards down in her lap. "I'm just want to make a good impression, is that a crime?"

He was chuckling at her, clearly finding her anal-retentive anxiety amusing. "My dearest, you're over-worrying."

Now Edith was one who was frowning. "She's your _sister_, Anthony—your sister who until today, I haven't met—"

"That's Margot's fault and no one else's," he muttered under his breath. "She's had plenty of opportunities to come back to Britain, she simply prefers being on the Continent, that's all. It's near impossible to pull her away."

Anthony spoke so easily about these things, but Edith still couldn't help but feel anxious. What if _she_ had been the reason Lady Margot had chosen not to fly back to Britain until now?

"When you told her about me, how did she respond?"

Now it was Anthony who was sighing. "Edith, I've already told you—"

"Well please refresh my memory," Edith groaned, her patience thinning quickly. Was it her imagination? Or were her palms starting to sweat?

"She was _delighted_, my dear, she wished many congratulations to us both."

Edith wanted to believe that, with all her heart, but she also knew that his sister had been good friends with his first wife, or so she remembered Anthony telling her. And while it had been many years since Maud's death and Anthony was ready to marry again, that didn't necessarily mean that people like Lady Margot were ready to "let go" of the past.

That, and…well, it was very rare when she thought about her and Anthony's age difference, but this was one of those moments she couldn't help but dwell on it. Had Anthony explained to his sister that his second wife was over twenty-years younger? Of course, Lady Margot would have to been living under a rock not to know that bit of information, it was everywhere in the tabloids:

"_Minister of Agriculture seen stepping out with soon-to-be trophy wife"_

Oh Lord, did Lady Margot assume _that_ about her? That she was some sort of "gold-digger"? Not that Edith had come from a poor background, but still, these tended to be the things people assumed when a man of mature years got involved with a much younger woman!

_Stop it_, she quickly chastised herself. _You know yourself, you know your heart; you love Anthony, and would love him at any age, so stop being so defensive!_

Edith swallowed and nodded her head to no one in particular, before lifting her eyes once again to her notecards. "I just want to make a good impression," she murmured a second time, more to herself than to him, though he had heard her.

Anthony glanced over and smiled sweetly at her, his right hand moving to gently squeeze her leg. "And you will, my sweet," he answered, his voice sounding quite confident. "It will be impossible for her not to love you."

"Oh stop," Edith groaned, though she did appreciate his words and felt herself finally begin to relax, at least a little bit.

Anthony smiled and glanced at her again. "...Shall I quiz you?" he inquired, and Edith couldn't help but laugh, her heart relaxing even further.

"Perhaps a little," she confessed, which had him chuckling. She looked down at one of her notecards and quickly covered up the answer. "Alright, your sister loves to travel, but the main house she keeps is in Greece—"

"Not anymore," Anthony sighed, looking apologetic at the interruption.

Edith frowned, and then looked down at her notecard. She had written GREECE, including the villa's address. She knew Lady Margot had a few other homes here and there that she stayed in when traveling, but those were small, weekend getaways, not an actual house for which she spent the entire winter.

"But…but I could have sworn you said—"

"She sold the villa earlier in the year," he sighed. "Sometime back in February, I understand; the economy," he explained in a low voice. "She's staying in Monaco for the time being, though I wouldn't be surprised if she chooses to take permanent residency there."

Edith absorbed this new information, and then began digging through her purse. "Do you have a pen?" she asked.

"Darling, you don't need to write it down, and you honestly don't need to 'memorize' these facts about my sister. Just…just be yourself!"

_Be herself._ The problem was, the person she was when with her fiancé, was quite different to the person the rest of the world saw. Anthony saw a lovely, poised, confident woman, and that was what she felt like when with him! But all her life, she was the shy sister, the "plain" sister, the sister who was too timid to speak up, who cried or pouted whenever Mary said something nasty, or whenever Sybil wandered away, leaving her alone to fend for herself. She did feel she had gotten better as she had gotten older, conquering her fears and overcoming her shyness (to a point); but there continued to be a part of her that struggled with…well, with _liking_ herself. Both Mary and Sybil not only seemed sure and confident with who they were, but she knew that if asked, they could each easily list off several things that they liked about themselves.

Edith still struggled with doing that. And if she struggled, well…what was to stop other people from struggling?

"Here we are!" Anthony announced, breaking Edith from her thoughts and drawing her attention to the gates just up ahead, that would lead them to the lane that went up to Locksley.

Usually when they traveled to Locksley (which they did at least once a month; they were quite active in the York arts scene), Edith always felt at peace and relaxed. Even before Anthony had proposed to her, she had come to think of Locksley as "home". And now that they were engaged, it held an even greater part of her heart. Locksley had been the Strallan ancestral home for generations, and so it would be for the both of them. When Parliament wasn't in session, this would be the residence she and Anthony would keep (he had already set aside a lovely space in the house as an office for her), and of course, when he fully retired from government work, this would be the place they would grow old together.

She loved it here…though right now, the house was having an opposite effect on her nerves.

"Do you think she's already here?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling.

"She should be," Anthony answered, his eyes on the lane. "Her flight got in last night, and she took a car directly from Heathrow to here."

Edith frowned and glanced at her fiancé out of the corner of her eye. For a man who was supposedly very "close" to his sister, they didn't seem to communicate a great deal. When was the last time they had seen each other? She would have thought he would have wanted to greet her at the airport himself.

"Oh…I say, it seems we're the last to arrive…"

Edith sat up a bit straighter and realized that indeed, Anthony was right, because just up ahead were two cars, parked along the drive leading to the house, and she recognized them both.

One of the cars was occupied. And as Anthony's car came around the drive, the person quickly got out and Edith felt her chest heave with relief.

_Sybil…_

As soon as Anthony had their own car in park, Edith wasted no time leaping out and rushing to her sister's side, grinning and continuing to feel relief flood over and through her as her baby sister wrapped her arms around her in an affectionate hug.

"I want you to know, that I'm only here because of you," Sybil muttered into her ear.

Edith rolled her eyes, but smiled at all the same, and as she looked back at Sybil, murmured, "Well thank you for coming, just the same. I do appreciate it, truly."

Sybil did smile at that and hugged her again. While Sybil had never met Lady Margot either, Edith knew how much her sister detested things like this. Many people who knew Sybil in London, and who had met her after she came to the city and no conception of her life before London, had a very hard time believing she was a Lady, and that her parents were the Earl and Countess of Grantham. Was it any wonder that Sybil was happiest spending her weekends pub crawling with Tom and her friends, rather than attend the various social galas that their grandmother had been brought up doing, and thus had expected the three of them to carry on? Was it any wonder that her sister was quite happy, keeping a snug little flat in the city, rather than dreaming about managing a grand house like Locksley, of even Downton?

…Was it any wonder that in pro-Tory family, Sybil voted Labor, and often referred to Margaret Thatcher as "the hobgoblin queen"?

Edith may have thought of herself as the shy, awkward sister, but Sybil was the black sheep of the family (and wore the label with pride). So no, setting aside time in her weekend to come up to Yorkshire and attend tea with Edith, Lady Margot, and the rest of the Crawley women, was not her little sister's idea of "time well spent".

But Sybil knew how important this was to Edith, and no doubt had the insight to be aware as to how nervous Edith was feeling, and so when she said that she came because of her, Edith knew her sister spoke the truth (and that she did truly love her).

"Mama and Granny are already inside," Sybil explained. "I said I would wait in the drive for you. Did you see my texts?"

Edith had her phone turned off, because she was so busy trying to memorize her bloody notecards.

"Lady Sybil!" Anthony greeted, smiling at the youngest Crawley sister and crossing the drive to kiss her cheeks.

Sybil smiled and returned the gesture. "Tell me, _Sir_ Anthony, will we dispense of the titles after you marry my sister and officially become my brother-in-law?"

Edith practically elbowed Sybil for her cheeky comment, but Anthony simply chuckled and blushed, holding up his hands in defeat. "I do beg your pardon, some habits are difficult to let go."

Sybil laughed herself. "Spoken like a true aristocrat."

Edith groaned and gave her sister a look, but Anthony continued to chuckle, always finding Sybil's blunt humor charming, or so he had told Edith. Her sister seemed to have a way of putting others at ease.

"I overheard you mention your mother and grandmother are already inside. I apologize if we kept you waiting—"

"Oh, we arrived no more than twenty-minutes ago," Sybil reassured. "And I have no doubt that Lady Margot is being an excellent hostess."

It wasn't missed by Edith that her sister's smile then seemed a little bit…"forced", when she said this. Edith's anxiety about the situation began to rear its ugly head anew. _I should have been here first to greet her! Oh Lord, what must she think of me!?_

"I got a text from Mary," Sybil interrupted her thoughts. "She's running late and says to start without her."

Edith's brow furrowed at this. Mary was typically so punctual, and she had assured Edith when they had last spoken two nights before, that yes, she would be there for the tea, that Anna put it in her schedule weeks in advance and made sure nothing would conflict with the date. And while Mary and Edith had gotten better over the years, they still weren't exactly what someone would call "close", not by a long shot.

…And yet, right now Edith craved her older sister, and wished for her presence every bit as deeply as Sybil's.

"She's on her way," Sybil assured, as if reading Edith's thoughts. Sybil smiled at her, and even reached out to squeeze her hand. "I'm sure she'll be here before you know it."

Edith blushed, but forced a smile of her own and nodded her head, willing her sister's words to be true. "Mary would know what to do; she could handle these situations so much better than—"

"You'll be fine," Sybil whispered, squeezing Edith's hand a little firmer. Anthony was standing a few feet away, clearly anxious to enter the house and see his sister as well, but waiting patiently for Edith and trying his best to offer some privacy for her and Sybil.

"Right…" Edith sighed, and then swallowed and nodded her head and forced another smile, as well as returning Sybil's squeeze. "Right!" she repeated again, this time with a bit more enthusiasm. She moved away from Sybil then and reached out to Anthony. "Well let's go in then; we don't want to keep Lady Margot waiting longer than she already has."

Anthony smiled and even chuckled, before leaning down and kissing her cheek. "You don't have to be so formal, my sweet; you can call her 'Margot'."

"The same way you call my sisters just 'Mary' and 'Sybil'?"

Anthony blushed and Sybil giggled. "Point taken."

It was a light-hearted moment, and a very much needed one, or so Edith felt. With one arm linked to her fiancé, and the other holding Sybil's hand, Edith lifted her chin and entered the house, reminding herself with each step that in just a little more than a month, she would officially be its mistress: Lady Edith Strallan.

She needed to keep that in mind…and stop thinking of herself as "Lady Jane Grey", off to face the executioner's block.

* * *

The journey from London to Downton was taking longer than usual, or so it felt. Mary sighed and leaned her head against the window, happy for the coolness of the glass and the quietness of the car. There were only a handful of passengers in the car, and all of them were far more engrossed in reading whatever they had in their hands, or softly conversing with one another. Two such people sat diagonally across from her, a young couple who didn't look much older than twenty, but both of whom seemed to be head over heels in love with each other, sitting and snuggling as close they could possibly get, their foreheads touching and their lips smiling and whispering back and forth between playful kisses.

Mary didn't like it when complete strangers stared at her, so she tried her best to keep her gaze focused elsewhere. Still…she couldn't help but glance every so often at them, and feel the corners of her mouth lift just slightly. They were so young, and her mind immediately assumed that they were in the first stages of a relationship, the "puppy love" stage, when everything was new and fresh and happy, and it was practically impossible to imagine ever getting mad at this person, or losing your temper, or being disappointed and having your heart broken—

Mary groaned and closed her eyes. Sometimes her cynicism ran ramped. She opened her eyes and glanced briefly again at the couple, who were completely focused on each other, and no doubt thought themselves the only two on the train.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she found herself torn between envying them their naivety, and feeling sorry for them.

On one hand, what any person wouldn't give to be in that "puppy love stage", that honeymoon-phase of a relationship, where everything is "perfect", before apathy and cynicism manage to sneak in.

But on the other hand…"survivors" of the puppy love stage knew the rewards to be gained from a better, deeper understanding of one's partner, from "surviving" the meltdowns, the fights, the disappointments…and coming out stronger.

Not every couple could do that. And very few could do what she and Matthew did, which was come back together after a long separation. And while there was a part of Mary that did regret those wasted years when they were apart, she did believe deep in her heart that it had done them good, both of them. She was surer of herself, both as a business leader, and in understanding her own hopes, dreams, and needs. And the important thing, of course, was that she and Matthew did come back together, did find one another again, and had grown, both apart, and together.

She had more confidence now in their relationship that she believed she would have five years ago, if they hadn't broken up and he had proposed to her then. So, deep down, she supposed as she looked at the young lovers, she was glad she wasn't in their shoes, but still wished the pair of them the best, especially when the puppy love stage was over.

Of course…that being said, Mary did recall how Matthew had once murmured to her, in an effort to calm her down and help her make sense of both Sybil and Edith's recent engagements after only six months of dating their respective partners, that _"all couples are different"._

All couples are different…

Sybil and Edith just…knew. They knew, without a doubt, it seemed, that Tom and Sir Anthony were the men for them…and to be fair, Mary had a hard time imagining them with anybody else, not that the love-lives of her sisters was ever something she deeply contemplated, but really, as soon as Mary learned that Tom was a liberal journalist who shared her sister's love for history and politics? And as for Edith, well, Sir Anthony might be considerably older, but Mary found she agreed with Sybil, that Edith was an "old soul", a born romantic, so really, who else but Sir Anthony Strallan?

Yet this thought did give Mary pause, and once again she found herself glancing over at the young couple nearby.

…What if they weren't "new"? What if they had been together for six months, or possibly even longer?

What if she and Matthew were the exception, rather than the rule?

Now her head was starting to hurt. Mary groaned and forced her eyes away from the lovers, and instead focused on her phone, frowning that Edith had yet to respond to her texts about running late. She sighed and sent a quick text to Sybil, as well as their mother, apologizing for her lateness, but promising to be there in the next hour or so, and to go ahead and start without her.

Not that she was eager to meet Lady Margot, she was only doing this for Edith. A wry smile curled at the corner of her mouth as she imagined herself, at the age of the young couple across from her, and how horrified her younger self would be at the thought that she was giving up a perfectly good Saturday to go and have tea with some stranger all because of Edith.

Mary doubted she and Edith would ever be "close", but she did think they had matured considerably over the past few years. Granted, living separately and having lives of their own to lead, did help.

Her phone began to buzz and Mary at first assumed it was either one of her sisters or her mother, but when she looked down at the screen, her eyes widened at the picture of Matthew's handsome, grinning face, and the words INCOMING CALL, scrolling underneath.

_Bollocks…_

Mary swallowed and lifted the phone to her ear, and after taking a deep breath, pressed the button to answer.

"_Mary?"_ Matthew's voice filled her ear.

"I'm on the train," she answered. The line wasn't terrible, but it wasn't ideal, either.

"_Wait, you're on the train?"_ he asked, sounding surprised.

"Mmhm," she answered, glancing around. She hated talking on the phone in public, especially on the train. She was grateful no one was sitting next to her, or directly across from her, and while she doubted anyone was paying attention to her or her conversation, at the same time, she couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious. She leaned in a little closer to the window. "Now's not an especially good time to talk, darling; I'll call you back later."

"_I just thought that you would be coming by here, before you went up to Downton?"_

Mary sighed and bit her lip. "Well…I was already going to be running late, and I learned that there was in fact a Saturday express, so I decided to take it," she explained.

"_Oh…"_ Matthew answered, and then there was a pause. Mary couldn't tell what he was thinking, it was hard to decipher after just one "oh", although he did sound quite possibly, disappointed. And she hated that, because she knew she was the cause.

"I'll be back tomorrow," she told him, suddenly wanting to put him at ease. "By midday," she added, though she chastised herself for making such a promise. She knew her parents, especially her mother, and knew that she would want to go over details, again, about the upcoming wedding, which was in all fairness, a little over a month away.

"_Why don't I come up there?"_ Matthew offered, and the disappointment Mary thought she may have heard was gone now, and his voice sounded happy and chipper again.

"Oh…darling, you don't have to do that—"

_"I don't mind, I'd love to!"_ he sounded more enthusiastic by the minute. _"I haven't been up at Downton since Christmas."_

Mary rolled her eyes. "It hasn't changed; the only difference is that the snow has melted."

_"Reason enough,"_ he chuckled. There was no discouraging him, it seemed.

"Matthew, it would be a pointless trip…" Mary tried to reason. "There are only a few express trains on Saturday, and I think this is the last one that I got, so you'd be spending close to two solid hours on the train, only to arrive late, well after dinner has been served, and who would you talk to? I mean, Sir Anthony and Edith will be spending the evening with his sister, Tom isn't here, and—"

"_Mary, I don't need anybody else but you_," he interrupted, his voice still light and humorous, but also serious; sweet and serious.

Her heart melted a little at that revelation, and even though she was sitting by herself in her little corner of the train, she still found herself looking down bashfully. "I…I understand, but…"

"_Do you not want me there?"_

The question startled her, though later she would wonder why, since how could he not come to that conclusion based on the way she was hedging her answer?

"No! No, it…it isn't that, it's just…" she sighed, not exactly sure how to explain to him that…right now, she needed some time to herself. She loved Matthew, she did, she loved him more than words could say, but…just as she had come to accept that the time they had apart had been for the best, so too right now did she feel that a night to herself would be wise as well.

"_It's alright…"_ Matthew's voice came through, bringing her out of her thoughts. She could again hear the disappointment in his voice, but she could also hear him trying to overcome it, in an effort to keep her from hearing it.

"Matthew—"

"_It's alright,"_ he repeated, his voice sounding a bit lighter than before. _"No, I understand, you want some time with your sisters, and…it only just occurred to me now that perhaps your mother will want to over wedding plans with all of you there?"_

Yes, she didn't doubt that was true, but she hated that his mind had to make up these "excuses" to justify her desire to not be around him. _But to be fair, you don't want to be around him right now. _She told that little, "logical" voice in her head to shut up.

"I do miss you," Mary murmured, and she did mean it.

"_I know,"_ Matthew answered back, and she wanted to believe the sincerity she heard, and not allow that cynical part of herself to cast doubts. _"Look, call or text me tomorrow when you leave Downton; I'll meet you at the train station and we'll walk to that French café I know you adore."_

"And that you hate," Mary groaned.

"_Hate's a strong word; I just strongly disagreed with everything the restaurant critic had said about the place."_

She did smile at that. "Perhaps we can think of a place that we'll both enjoy?"

"_Deal,"_ Matthew answered, and she could hear his grin across the line. _"But I'll still meet you at the station, so don't forget to text!"_

"I won't!" Mary said with a roll of her eyes, but she was still smiling. "I love you…" she murmured then.

"_I love you too,"_ he murmured back, and then the call ended.

Mary remained sitting like that for a few minutes, the mobile still held to her ear, even though the call was long since over. She didn't dare move because she was afraid that if she did, the tears that she could feel stinging the backs of her eyes would start to fall.

When she finally lowered the phone, she glanced across the aisle to where the young couple had been seated, but to her surprise, saw that their seats were vacant. Had they gotten up? Had the train stopped at some point during her conversation, and she had missed them leaving? _Oh Lord, please don't say I imagined them, _she prayed. That was all she needed right now, hallucinations of young, carefree lovers.

She returned her mobile to her purse, and leaned her head once again against the window, gazing at the passing English countryside as the train continued its journey northward.

_And so it begins,_ she found herself thinking.

She had had some suspicions for a while, and today she had taken the first step to seeing if there was some truth to those suspicions. As far as Matthew, and the rest of her family were concerned, she had been doing some work for _The Grantham Foundation_, speaking to several London football clubs about becoming sponsors for their next fundraiser. But the real reason to why she was late to Edith's tea with Lady Margot…and to why she hadn't gone to see Matthew and instead got directly onto a train, was…so much more personal. And for the moment…very private.

Oh God, how was she going to get through this? Her work, the wedding, and now _this_ hanging over her head. "_When it rains, it pours_," her mother would sometimes say.

Indeed. And right now, Mary felt like she was trapped in her own personal monsoon.

* * *

She didn't want to be here. She had come for Edith and Edith alone, but even so, just five minutes in Lady Margot's presence was enough to make Sybil want to scream.

Lady Margot Strallan-Elliot-Pomeroy (yes, she expected people upon the first meeting to address that way ENTIRELY) was every bit the posh, stuck-up, aristocratic snob, as befitting an American sitcom, except there was nothing "funny" about her. The woman had to be aware of how…arrogant she came across, but if she was "ashamed" or "embarrassed" by her behavior, she didn't show it. If anything, she seemed to take pride in her snobbishness!

Sybil had had the "good fortune" of not meeting Lady Margot when she had arrived with her mother to Locksley. Granny's car was there, but she was waiting for them. She (Granny) didn't want to keep Lady Margot waiting, and seemed to think this was an excellent opportunity for the more "mature members" of the tea to sit and chat. Sybil was more than happy to wait for Edith and Anthony to arrive, rather than to sit and endure the other woman's scrutiny.

Because that was exactly what happened when Sybil did meet Sir Anthony's sister, and had she known this beforehand, she wasn't sure she would have been able to endure the tea. She was starting to wonder how much more she could endure, before she finally stood up and just walked out without a by-your-leave? Yes, it would be rude, but honestly, would it be any ruder than Lady Margot's behavior to herself? To her mother and her sister?

Sybil leaned back on the chaise in which she was sitting, not caring one bit that her posture wasn't "proper", that her legs weren't crossed in the appropriate manner, or that she was glaring at the woman seated to her right. Lady Margot had already formed a bad opinion about her, and Sybil honestly didn't care any longer what the woman thought of her, so if she was "offending" the bitch because she was slouching, then she'd slouch all the more. There would be no love lost between herself and Sir Anthony's sister, and this was cemented when the woman dared to speak ill of Tom, whom she had never even met, let alone was there to defend himself!

_"So, Lady Sybil, I understand that your fiancé is a journalist?"_

_ She sat up a little straighter at the question and nodded her head, her heart swelling with pride whenever she thought about Tom and the work he did. "Yes, he's—"_

_ "I do hope it's not one of those 'leftist rags' that you see cluttering up newsstands; all those are good for is lining one's floor if toilet-training a dog." She laughed then, a light, tittering laugh that reminded Sybil of a bunch of squawking parakeets. _

_She forced a smile; why was she even surprised by the woman's attitude? Of course she was pro-Tory. "Actually, he does," she answered, her gaze not wavering as she looked directly into the woman's eyes. "For_ The Standard."

_Just as she had done when she had first met Sybil, Lady Margot's nose scrunched up, as if a rotten smell had invaded her nostrils._ That's your own bullshit, _Sybil wanted to retort._

_ "Hmmm," she said after a moment. "Can't say that I'm familiar with it."_

_"Well that makes sense, considering it's one of those 'leftist rags'," Sybil explained._

_ Both her mother and grandmother coughed and cleared their throats then, before giving her a look of warning. Lady Margot's own eyes narrowed then, but her smile (like that of a snake) spread just a little._

_ "Well, perhaps he'll get lucky some day and find a_ real _newspaper to write for."_

_ Her mother's hand reached out then and grasped her own, as if trying to restrain her. _

Lady Margot then turned away from her, and put her attention back on Edith. Sybil seethed and forced the hot, bitter liquid down her throat, hoping that perhaps it would turn to fire, and she could breathe it on the vile woman.

Oh poor Edith, to have a witch for a sister-in-law. Not for the first time, was Sybil grateful that she got along with all of Tom's siblings. His family seemed so "normal" when compared to the rest of the Crawleys, and now the Strallans. She glanced at a clock on a mantle just passed Lady Margot's head, wondering for the millionth time since this entire thing began how much longer it would last. And where was Mary? Her sister _still_ hadn't shown up. Mary would know how to handle Lady Margot, she took after their grandmother; she could put the woman in her place and even make her cry.

She glanced at Edith once again, feeling proud of her sister for putting her best foot forward and smiling through the interrogative questions and veiled insults.

"_Oh my, look at you! I knew you were young, but I didn't realize you were fresh out of primary school!"_ she had tittered when Edith had first greeted the Lady Margot. The exchange between brother and sister was short, and Lady Margot more or less "banished" Sir Anthony from their presence, declaring this was a tea for the ladies, and the ladies alone, before adding (after he had left) _"well, for the ladies and the children; I must say, with you two here, I feel as though I should give firm warnings not to touch anything breakable!"_ she tittered again. Good God, save them now.

Lady Margot went on, peppering Edith with all sorts of different questions, questions that on the surface might seem "friendly" (and only slightly invasive) but Sybil wasn't fooled. The woman was clearly sizing Edith up, and it was plain to Sybil that she didn't think much of her sister.

"It seems this family is full of writers, Lady Grantham," Lady Margot murmured over her teacup just then. Without waiting for Cora Crawley to answer, she turned to Edith then, "Anthony told me all about your column, Lady Edith."

"Oh?" Edith asked, swallowing nervously and glancing at Sybil then, unsure what exactly what the woman was going to say next.

Lady Margot murmured a sound of confirmation, before delicately placing her teacup down. "Yes, and it's such a shame to have to set that aside, but then with marriage, does come certain sacrifices, and well, anyone can be a writer, but not everyone can be the next mistress of Locksley."

"Why?" Sybil found herself asking, unable to help herself, and ignoring her mother's hand on her arm. "Why does she have to set it aside?"

Lady Margot seemed a bit surprised that Sybil had spoken, and looked at her as if she were a stain on the carpet. "Well, if you had listened, my dear, you would have heard the reason."

"I _was_ listening," Sybil answered, unable to hold back the venom in her own voice. "And I didn't hear 'a reason', I heard you say _'marriage comes with certain sacrifices'_ and that _'anyone can be writer',_ which actually isn't true, and then you said 'not everyone can be the next mistress of Locksley'. Now the only person here who is going to be the next 'mistress of Locksley' is Edith, so are you implying that it's impossible for Edith be 'mistress of Locksley' as well as a writer? Because if that's true, then I still need to hear 'a reason', because you've yet to provide me with one."

Lady Margot blinked, and both Cora and Violet were closing their eyes, inwardly groaning no doubt, while Edith looked torn, wanting to smile and thank Sybil for standing up for her then, while at the same time, wanting to gain the love and respect of this horrible, unworthy woman, simply because she was the sister of her future husband. But Sybil couldn't help but wonder, if Sir Anthony were there, would Lady Margot being saying half these things to his future wife?

"My, my…you are an opinionated little thing, aren't you?"

Sybil opened her mouth to fire back, but just then the drawing room doors opened and the house butler announced Mary's name, and the eldest Crawley sister entered the room with a dazzling smile. "So sorry I'm late," Mary apologized, before greeting her mother and grandmother with kisses to their cheeks, as well as to Edith who was closest to her.

"Lady Mary? Well, I must say that you are a breath of fresh air to our party," Lady Margot greeted. "Your grandmother has told me a great deal about you; how nice to have someone so lovely, poised, elegant, and refined in our company." There was no denying the insult Lady Margot was throwing back at Sybil, and quite possibly at Edith. _Using our own sister against us, that bitch._

Sybil had had enough. If she didn't go now, she _would_ say something she would later regret (not to Lady Margot, but for Edith's sake). "Speaking of fresh air, I feel the need to get some," she announced, pasting on a smile and turning her gaze to Mary, who looked a bit surprised at her leaving. "I'm glad you're here, Mary; you'll save the conversation, it was all getting a bit stale."

Lady Margot's eyes flared then, and Sybil couldn't help but smirk as she passed the woman.

* * *

"…AND THEN, SHE IMPLIED THAT A WOMAN CAN'T BE A WIFE AND HOLD A JOB AT THE SAME TIME! I MEAN, MY GOD, WHAT IS THIS, 1912!?"

_"Syb, I love you, I completely understand your annoyance and anger, but can you lower the volume just a bit? My ears are ringing…"_

Sybil groaned, but muttered an apology. "Sorry, just…ugh, I honestly don't think I've ever met a more odious woman in my life!" She flopped down onto her bed then and gazed up at the canopy. "I mean, it was bad enough, what she said about you and your work, but she's lucky she didn't make a comment about your nationality, otherwise you'd be engaged to a woman wanted for murder." She listened to him chuckle on the other end. "I'm serious, Tom!"

_"I know!"_ he laughed, and the sound did wonders for soothing her anger. _"I know,"_ he repeated. _"And I love you for it; I appreciate you defending my honor, love."_

"Ha, ha, tease all you want, but you'll soon see what I mean when the wedding comes around and you're forced to meet her."

_"Well, if it helps, she'll have to contend with an army of Bransons—by the way, I spoke to my mother earlier today; the number's gone up."_

At this, Sybil sat up. "How many?"

She could imagine Tom wincing as he answered_. "Another twelve, I think."_

Sybil's eyebrows shot up. "You _think!?"_

_"She's waiting to hear back from my cousin Katie and her family—Katie is like a sister to me, she's my age, so it makes sense to invite her—"_

"Tom, I have no problem with how many cousins are invited, it's just that Mama is starting to turn into a 'bridezilla', and wants everything to be 'just so', so I need to give her precise numbers, and I don't think I can spring many more surprises on her—"

_"I love your mother, Sybil, but she does understand that this is our wedding and not hers, right?"_

"Correction, Tom; it's our wedding, _plus_ the weddings of both my sisters and their respective partners," she groaned and flopped back onto the bed. "Ugh, I should have fought Mama harder against this 'triple wedding' idea. It's not fair to any of us; let Mary and Edith have their own day to shine."

_"And not you?"_ Tom asked, his voice light and teasing.

"In all honesty?" Sybil lowered her voice, just in case the walls developed ears and two of which belonged to her mother. "I would have been happy to elope to Scotland, or even Vegas at this point!"

Tom laughed, and then murmured an endearment to her in Irish. _"Well, I'm afraid it's too late for that, love. Besides, if we elope now,_ my mother _may be the one wanted for murder then."_

Sybil did laugh at that. "I know better than to piss off Margaret," she giggled, wincing slightly as she remembered the way his mother shouted at Tom's brothers over the Christmas holidays, when their roughhousing had caused the turkey she had spent hours roasting, to go flying off the table.

_"I'll call her back tomorrow; tell her we need to have the final numbers by the middle of the week. She'll understand, once I tell her about Cora's 'frustrations'; Mam was in her shoes a year ago when Sian got married—oh hey, that reminds me, is Mary alright?"_

Sybil was surprised by his question. "I think so…why? I mean, she looked tired and she went to bed right after dinner, but other than that…" her voice trailed off, and she began replaying the evening over in her head once again, trying to see if she could recall a moment when her sister seemed out of sorts. "Why do you ask?"

_"Matthew and I met up this evening; we just went to the pub, but while we were there, he mentioned that he had spoken to Mary and she had sounded…'off', whatever that means. Please don't tell her I said that, love, I don't want to get Matthew in trouble, he's just concerned—"_

"Don't worry, all identities are safe," Sybil assured him. "But I'm sure it's just fatigue, like I said, Mary just seemed tired, but not upset or unhappy or anything like that. And maybe Matthew is feeling a bit nervous about everything coming up? By the way, is he still…?"

Tom did chuckle and confirm her unspoken question. _"I think he likes it; though I have no idea what your sister thinks of it."_

Nor did she. And she had a hard time imagining Mary being "pleased" by this development.

"Well, I haven't heard her complain, at least not yet, so maybe she doesn't mind? Or maybe she thinks it's just a phase."

_"Think I should stop shaving and start growing a beard?"_ Tom teased.

Sybil wrinkled her nose just slightly. "You are sexy when you're all scruffy, I'll not deny that, but your whiskers can be a bit prickly, so that would take some getting used to if you did."

He chuckled then, and she recognized the tone. _"Well, we wouldn't want that, would we? I mean I know how you like feeling my cheeks and chin along your—"_

A knock on her door interrupted the conversation.

"To be continued," Sybil informed him.

_"Tomorrow night, when you get home,"_ Tom promised.

They murmured quick goodnights and "I love yous", before hanging up. Sybil went to the door then, thinking it would be her mother, but was surprised to see, "Edith?"

Edith stood before her, looking a little uncertain and awkward. And nervous as well…

"I thought you were spending the night at Locksley with—?"

"No," Edith interrupted, shaking her head. "Anthony just dropped me off, actually, I um…" she shifted her weight back and forth. "His sister's room is just next door to ours, so…so I wasn't comfortable—"

"Oh Edith," Sybil groaned. "Do NOT let that woman throw you out of what will very soon be YOUR house—"

"But it's NOT _my house_, is it?" Edith countered, her tone sounding a bit harsher than Sybil had expected. "Anthony and I aren't married yet, so technically speaking, _I'm_ the guest, not her! I mean, she grew up in that house, she has a great deal more claim to it than I do!"

She had touched on a nerve; or rather, she had touched on a nerve that no doubt had been trampled upon by Lady Margot. Poor Edith not only had to endure the woman's company during that dreadful tea, but also later, while she and Sir Anthony hosted dinner. What had the woman said to her? And how dare she make Edith feel so uncomfortable that she couldn't spend the night with her fiancé!

"You embarrassed me today, Sybil…"

Sybil's eyes went wide then at the bitter tone and the icy words. She felt as if her sister had thrown a slap across her face.

"I know you're passionate about…about feminism and equal rights, but…but what Lady Margot said about 'making sacrifices for one's marriage', I…I don't think she meant any harm, and—"

"Edith," Sybil had to interrupt. "Please…please tell me you don't honestly believe what she said? About giving up your writing because you'll be married?"

Her sister didn't meet her eyes, but Sybil could tell that Edith had given Lady Margot's words a great deal of thought, and perhaps the "suggestion" had been brought up again at dinner.

"I think she makes some valid points that deserve some consideration," Edith finally murmured.

Sybil threw hands up into the air. "Oh my God, Edith, seriously—!?"

"Not everything is a battle, Sybil!" Edith snapped. "And not everyone is going to see eye to eye on all matters. Just because someone's opinion differs from yours doesn't mean it shouldn't be heard!"

"But Edith—"

"I didn't say I agree _or_ that I'm going to do as Lady Margot says, but I do think her words deserve to be heard and considered at the very least, but then you immediately went on the warpath—"

"I did NOT 'go on the warpath'—"

"It wasn't your fight, Sybil!" Edith hissed. "It wasn't 'a fight' at all, until you made it one!"

"_ME!?"_

"YES!" Edith practically roared. "YOU went on the attack when you heard Lady Margot say something that you didn't agree with! And she wasn't even speaking to you, but to me! And…and despite what you might think, I am capable of speaking up for myself," she muttered, her voice catching just slightly. She turned her head then, and Sybil noticed how her sister furiously wiped at her eyes.

The outrage at Edith's accusations dwindled then, and Sybil now felt her heart swell with both pity, and personal shame.

She didn't feel ashamed for what she said to Lady Margot, not at all. But she did feel ashamed for any embarrassment she may have caused her sister. Because while Edith hadn't said it, Sybil knew that her sister would be the one who would have to put up the dreadful woman. After the wedding, Sybil doubted she would ever see Lady Margot again, and she was more than fine with that.

But Edith…Edith was marrying Sir Anthony, Lady Margot's _brother_. She was joining his family, and that meant having to endure the horrible woman for a long, long time.

"You said you had come for me," Edith murmured, her voice soft, but the pain still obvious and clear. "You said you had come out of support for me…but…but then you purposefully picked a fight, and as soon as Mary arrived, you walked out!"

Sybil sighed and attempted to reach out to her sister then. "I'm sorry, Edith, I…I just thought that if I stayed I would have made things worse—"

"I love you, Sybil," Edith interrupted, taking a step back before Sybil's hand made contact with her shoulder. "Between you and Mary, I'm certainly much closer to you, but…but today…for the first time, I think, I…I felt _disappointed_."

The word was far more painful than any slap could have been. Sybil felt cold and numb, and tears started to blur her vision.

Edith looked at her, her expression full of pained sorrow and regret. Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Sybil to stand there, dumbfounded, and even more ashamed than before.

She was tempted to call Tom, but knew that if she did, she would just start crying. She was tempted to go seek out Mary, knock on her door and ask if she could stay with her, but that would lead to questions she really didn't feel like answering. She was even tempted to find her mother, to curl up in her arms and beg forgiveness for her behavior earlier, but her mother, while running a soothing hand through her hair, would wisely tell her that it wasn't _her_ forgiveness that she needed. And while it was tempting to chase after Edith, at the same time, Sybil knew the importance of space…and right now, Edith needed that from her, more than anything.

So instead, she shut the door to her room, leaned against it, and allowed herself a little cry, before finally crawling into bed.

That night, all three Crawley sisters slept by themselves, each tossing and turning and wishing to feel the arms of the man they loved wrapped around them, and hear him whisper into their ear, _"It's going to be all right…"_

* * *

_Awwww :o( _


	7. The Big Day

_SURPRISE! It's been...well, let's not get into how long it's been ;o) but I *really* wanted to update this story for the month of November, as it connects with this month's Rock the AU theme: engagements! And oh boy, I'm afraid we're in for a *bit* of an angsty roller coaster-but hang in there! Trust in me, I'll make sure everything is alright in the end ;o)_

_BIG THANKS for those of you who continue to read despite my absences between updates. You the best, and I truly appreciate your support. Thank you! And long live STEAMM!  
_

* * *

_Chapter Six_  
_**"The Big Day"**_

Matthew had always been an early riser. Ever since his university days, he was one to wake up with the sun, go to the gym, shower, and have a hearty breakfast before going about the agenda of his day. So it was no surprise that he woke early today…though if truth were told, he hadn't exactly gotten a great amount of sleep from the night before.

With a groan, Matthew sat up and swung his feet over, wincing slightly at the feel of the cold wood beneath them. He yawned and stretched and then rose, the heel of one hand rubbing the sleep from his eyes, while the other scratched at his cheek, pausing for a moment at the feel of the beard that he had been maintaining for several months. He looked up at the small mirror which hung on the wall and stared at his reflection for a moment, his hand running down the length of his cheek and rubbing the beard at his chin. He had promised Mary he would shave it off; he knew she wasn't a fan, and had put up with it because at the time, he really liked how he looked with it. It had been his intention to shave it off for the wedding all along, he was going to surprise her by showing up clean-shaven, but last night he felt it was necessary to "spoil" the surprise and tell her…not that he believed the beard mattered _that_ much to her, but…he was just desperate to find _something_ that would make her smile, even a little bit.

He sighed and lowered his hands, before going about the room and stuffing things into the small duffle bag he had brought for the overnight at the Grantham Arms. The rest of his things had already been taken to Locksley, where the three grooms were to meet for the earlier part of the day. Matthew would shower, shave, and have breakfast there, but he had still brought with him a simple change of clothes, a pair of running shorts and Cambridge t-shirt to be exact.

It was Tom who introduced Matthew to running. Shortly after their introduction to one another through Mary and Sybil, Tom invited Matthew to join him on one of his morning jogs, and their friendship quickly grew from there. It had become a routine, the two of them meeting at least twice a week if not more for a good run, usually in the morning. And of all the "final bachelor moments" he and Tom had found themselves thrust into by their circle of friends, the one Matthew had been looking forward to most, out of all of them, was a morning run around the village before hurrying off to Locksley to get ready for the day ahead. However…judging from the sounds that came from Tom's room last night (which was just on the other side of the far wall), Matthew highly doubted his friend would be in any "condition" for an early morning run.

_Thank God I brought earplugs,_ Matthew thought to himself. It would be just like Sybil to give the proverbial "finger" to the age-old tradition of the bride and groom not seeing each other before the wedding, so the fact that she had snuck into Tom's room didn't surprise Matthew. No, what surprised him was just how…vocal, she could be. He couldn't help but feel a little bit sorry for the other guests.

After a few more stretches, he bent down and laced up his running shoes, before throwing his duffle over his shoulder and walking out of the room. Once in the hallway, he paused outside of Tom's room and debated about knocking on the door. All was quiet from what he could hear, but that being said, he couldn't help but assume Sybil was still in there. _Lord help her if Mary finds out she's been here,_ Matthew couldn't help but think. The thought did make him chuckle, as well as smile fondly at the thought of his own bride-to-be.

Knowing Mary, she no doubt had an entire morning routine planned that would put the most decorated General in the Queen's army to shame. The greatest sin Sybil…or any of them, for that matter, could commit, would be to throw that routine off by a single second. Besides…as nice an idea as a morning run with Tom was, perhaps it was for the best that he take this one by himself? After all, knowing Tom, he would probably ask a dozen questions, picking up from where they had left off last night. And the simple truth of the matter was, Matthew didn't feel like answering any of them and "reassuring" Tom over and over that everything was fine.

_But everything_ isn't _fine_, a voice muttered inside his head. "Shut it," Matthew muttered back.

No, he wouldn't knock on Tom's door, but he would leave a note, reminding his friend once again that they were all expected to be at Locksley by ten.

After quickly scribbling a message on a scrap piece of paper, Matthew pushed it under the door and then proceeded downstairs where he returned his key, settled the bill, and asked the clerk at the desk to mind his bag while he went out for a quick run. The morning was cool, and there was a thin layer of fog hovering along the horizon. Yet the sun promised warmth for the afternoon, and the way its rays glistened off the dew drops along the grass made the ground look as if it were sparkling with diamonds. Matthew smiled softly to himself, and then released a breath, watching as it billowed from his mouth in the cool, morning air.

He decided to run with the sun at his back, so he turned west and began, quietly making his way through the village center, which was slowly starting to wake and greet the day.

A few people were out, and nodded their heads in greeting as he past. Matthew wondered if, like that Henry Talbot character whom he and Tom had met last night, any of these people knew who he was? It was a bit disconcerting, being greeted by a complete stranger who claimed to know who you were, but instead of addressing you by your name, calling you "one of the Crawley grooms". But after today, he reminded himself, all that would be in the past, and both the public and the press would move on to much more interesting things. And quite frankly, Matthew couldn't wait.

As he continued his jog, he took notice that there were people climbing ladders which were propped up against various store fronts and lampposts; one man was tying the end of a cord around one such post, while across the road, another was tying the other end to the sign that hung in front of his shop. Tiny white flags hung from the cord, and beyond these two men were other such flags and cords, zig-zagging and fluttering in the breeze as they decorated the entire road ahead.

On his right, Matthew saw some women carrying what looked to be several large boughs of ivy, interspersed with tiny white roses and lilies. The boughs were being hung to the lampposts, adding more decoration to the village street. If Tom were with him, Matthew could easily imagine his friend muttering, _"You'd think the bloody queen was riding through!"_ He laughed at the thought, but Tom wouldn't be too far off the mark. For the village of Downton, who took great pride in the majestic manor house that brought a great many tourists to the region, this was very much a "royal wedding" as far as they were concerned. And the tabloids certainly seemed to share that sentiment. As Matthew drew closer to the village church, his eyes widened as he saw the bloody paparazzi already setting up camp. He quickly changed direction, not wanting to be spotted.

His feet carried him beyond the village, towards the country roads that surrounded Downton and that would eventually lead him to the main road which would later take him to Locksley. Or…if he chose a different direction, could wind him back towards the house, where Mary and the others were either still sleeping or just waking up. Though knowing Mary…she had probably been awake before the sun had even risen.

A small smile lifted at the corners of his mouth as he thought about Mary. What was she doing right now? How long had she been awake? Had she struggled with getting some sleep like he had? Of course, she didn't have to deal with "noisy neighbors" the way he had, but Tom and Sybil hadn't really been the cause for his restlessness (well, not entirely at least). No, the thing that had kept him tossing and turning during the night had been those words Mr. Talbot had spoken before Matthew had gone up.

"…_Two people who have so little in common…"_

Mr. Talbot had called them "Austenian", comparing himself and Mary to that of the characters from Pride and Prejudice. Matthew wanted to believe that the words were meant as a compliment, Mr. Talbot, while talkative, certainly seemed like a pleasant chap. However, despite the comparison to one of literature's favorite couples, Matthew couldn't stop focusing on the definition of the comparision.

Two people who have so little in common.

He remembered the surprise on his mother's face, when he told her that he and Mary had not only made amends, but were also engaged. While Mary and his mother had always been polite and civil to one another, Matthew couldn't exactly remember any great deal of "warmth" being exchanged between the two. And though his mother did congratulate him after receiving the news, she also took his hand in hers and looked deeply into his eyes and asked, _"Are you sure?" _

At the time he simply assumed his mother was being cautious because of the break-up he and Mary had endured. But now, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe his mother was being cautious for other reasons?

_No, that's ridiculous, Mother has always supported us, and she truly adores Mary, she knows how much I love her and how happy she makes me._ And she did, she truly did, as he had assured her on the night they had learned that both Sybil and Edith were engaged, that he loved her and wanted to be with her, and that she shouldn't let the past shadow their present, or their future…

"_All couples are different,"_ he had told her, as a means to assure her that just because Tom and Sybil and Edith and Sir Anthony had gotten engaged less than a year after they started dating, didn't mean their romances were…superior in any way…

No, no, it didn't mean that…but now as he thought about his fellow grooms and soon-to-be sisters-in-law, he thought about how…well-suited they were for each other. Tom and Sybil were very alike, both in manner and thought, their greatest difference being their backgrounds. Yet despite that difference, no one could deny they weren't a perfect match. And the same was true for Sir Anthony and Edith, that while there was a distinct gap in their ages, they too were very similar in taste and likeness, and again, were a perfect match.

…Could people say that about him and Mary?

Their backgrounds were different, their tastes were different, even their personal philosophies were different! Mary and her sisters had nannies when they were young, while the idea of a nanny helping to raise their future child was completely foreign to him. He was by no means as liberal as Tom, but he did vote Labor, while Mary remained a solid Tory, though she found the subject of politics rather droll. He liked to get up early, she liked to sleep in. He liked visiting cozy little pubs for a pint, she preferred posh wine bars. She liked riding and shooting, whereas he preferred football and cricket. He liked the idea of living in the city, and living simpler, whereas she wanted to stay in the country, close to Downton if not in Downton itself.

Henry Talbot was right; both he and Mary were opposites.

_But opposites attract,_ he reminded himself. And this wasn't news to him, he knew shortly after meeting her, that they were vastly different in many things. And yet he was still deeply attracted to her, and he still longed for her company, and he still wanted to get to know her better, and then when their relationship finally began, he couldn't get enough! He loved her, with every part of his being, and those five years apart were torture on his heart.

No, he didn't care about the differences; those differences were what he loved about her.

...But did she love those differences in him?

Matthew's feet slowed then, and he clutched at his side as if he were feeling a cramp. He panted and came to a stop, his hands going to his knees and bending over to take in several deep breaths, waiting for the pain in his muscles to subside.

He wasn't blind; she had been distant as of late. The other day, when they had driven up to Downton, she had been so quiet, so…so cold. Something was clearly on her mind (something had been on her mind a great deal, it seemed) but every time he tried to approach the subject, she would groan, roll her eyes, or snap at him and tell him that everything was fine, she was just tired.

_ "Honestly Matthew, can't you just drop it!?" Mary irritably groaned. "I told you, I'm fine!"_

_ "You're not 'fine'," he muttered, unable to hide the annoyance he was feeling. "If you were 'fine', then you wouldn't be so…so…"_

_ "So what?" she demanded, glaring at him from the passenger seat. _

_ He sighed and shook his head. "Nothing."._

_ "No, go on, tell me! What were you going to say? I wouldn't be so…what?"_

_ He grimaced and tried to concentrate on the road._

_ "It isn't fun when you're the one on the receiving end, is it?" she muttered in a self-righteous tone._

_ He narrowed his eyes and fixed her with a long side glance. "The two are hardly the same."_

_ Mary snorted._

_ Matthew sighed and debated about whether or not to bring the subject up again. Why she wouldn't tell him what was troubling her, he didn't know. But he knew it was something serious, it clearly had possession of her mind to the point where she couldn't concentrate on anything other than whatever it was. And because she wouldn't tell him, his own mind couldn't help but come to all sorts of terrible conclusions._

_ "Does it have to do with the Foundation?"_

_ Mary was looking out the window and let out a low groan of annoyance. _

_ Despite the warning bells going off in his head, he persisted. "Because if it does, you know I can help you, Mary—we're partners, after all, we—"_

_ "Oh for God's sake, NO!" she all but shouted. "No, it has NOTHING to do with the Foundation!"_

_ "Then it must have to do with you, is that right?"_

_ Mary brought a hand up to her forehead and rubbed it. "Matthew, please—"_

_ "Are you ill?"_

_ Mary's face paled at the question, and Matthew felt his own heart seize with panic. Oh God, that was it, wasn't it? That was why she—_

_ "No, I'm not ill," she quickly assured, though he didn't feel very assured. Her tone sounded sincere, as if she understood and recognized his panic, but at the same time, she also sounded surprised—not the kind of surprised as in _"I can't believe you thought that!",_ but the kind where _"I can't believe you found me out!"

_ He swallowed, trying to calm his mind and his heart. He was tempted to pull over, to turn and confront her and force her to tell him what it was—_

_ "Look, it's just the wedding, that's all," Mary groaned. "Mama is driving me mad, and Granny isn't helping because she doesn't think Mama knows what she's doing, so I'm trying to play peacekeeper between them, while at the same time making sure everything goes off without a hitch, and then there's the bloody press…" she threw her hands up into the air and made a loud noise of irritation, before sinking further into her seat, exhaustion written all over her face._

_ He allowed everything she had said to sink in. "So…this is just about the wedding?"_

_ She looked at him as if he had spoken in a foreign language. "That's what I just told you."_

_ He ignored her snark. "The wedding is why you're—"_

_ "Good God, Matthew, how many ways do I have to say it? Do you really need me to repeat myself? I thought you'd be happy!"_

_ "Happy?"_

_ "YES!" she all but shouted. "Glad that you FINALLY got an answer! Wasn't that what you wanted?"_

_ He bit the inside of his cheek. "What I want is for you to be honest with me and tell me what's bothering you."_

_ "I AM BEING HONEST!"_

_ "Really?" he questioned, knowing he should drop the subject, but he couldn't, because he knew her, he knew she was a master of guarding her heart, and for whatever reason, she wasn't telling him the whole truth. _

_ "Look, I gave you an answer, and that is my answer!" she growled through clenched teeth, before folding her arms and turning her face away from him._

_ Silence filled the car then and Matthew kept his eyes focused on the road before them. There wasn't another car in sight, hadn't been for miles. Just as they were the only vehicle on the road, so too did he feel like he was on an island to himself, right there with Mary next to him. _

_ No, not an island; the bloody north pole._

_ "Are you having second thoughts?"_

_ The question surprised him, especially since…he was the one asking it. Good Lord, where had that come from? But there it was, out in the air between them._

_ Why he had asked that? He wasn't sure, at least not completely. Perhaps he wanted to see what her reaction would be? Perhaps he was hoping she would respond as she had when he had asked her if she were ill—looking shocked and somewhat horrified, before answering quickly in a tone that was meant to be reassuring._

_ …Only she didn't. She didn't do any of those things._

_ He turned his head and looked at her, taking note that she continued to look out the window, although he swore she saw something sliding down her cheek. Oh God, was…was she crying? _

_ "Mary—"_

_ The sound of a horn honking shocked them both, and Matthew gripped the steering wheel and turned the car back into their lane, just as another went speeding in the opposite direction. In that moment he hadn't realized he had drifted over, not to mention he hadn't realized another car was close by._

_ He swallowed and took several deep breaths, trying to his heart back to normal. He glanced at her out of the side of his eyes, but didn't dare tur his head after that. "Mary, are you alright?"_

_ He heard her breathe in deeply, before responding. "Yes, I…" she paused and took another deep breath. "I think it's best if you just concentrate on driving."_

_ If that wasn't a dismissal, he didn't know what was. And in truth, he didn't feel like arguing further. _

The rest of their journey had been spent in cold silence. As soon as they arrived at Downton, Mary put on a smile and immediately fell into character as darling daughter and regal older sister, kissing the cheeks of her family before turning and greeting the staff who had gathered to welcome her to Downton. He didn't have the chance to speak with her again until just before dinner, and by then she seemed…not as out of sorts as she had been in car, and for a blessed moment he had hoped and prayed that he was just being overly sensitive, that it truly was just the stress of the wedding that was getting to her and nothing more.

But just as he had revealed to Tom the previous night, he knew wouldn't be able to relax until the entire thing was over. And that was a poor thing to think on the day you were supposed to marry the love of your life.

It wasn't until later, when he returned to the Grantham Arms to collect his bag and begin his journey to Sir Anthony's, that he realized he had used the word "supposed".

* * *

Tom's room at the Grantham Arms faced east, so the sun came streaming through the sheer curtains, causing Sybil to groan and wince as it hit her face. Yet it was just as well, because as she blinked and turned her head to escape its invading rays, she saw the clock on the nightstand and noticed that it was quarter to eight.

Mary had told her that the stylist would be at the house, ready for the lot of them at half-past nine. She needed to get back before everyone was up and about (and her stomach growled, reminding her that she also needed to get some breakfast too). She turned and gazed down at the sleeping man on her right, whose eyes were still closed and who looked so peaceful. She smiled and leaned down, gently brushing her lips against his cheek and then his shoulder, before forcing herself out of bed and away from the warmth of his body.

She made quick work of gathering her clothes and getting dressed. She nibbled her bottom lip as she slipped on her shoes, eyeing the door and then the window, deciding in the end to go out the same way she had come in, simply to avoid any awkwardness should someone spot her emerging. She certainly didn't want Matthew to catch her. With a resolute nod, Sybil went to the tiny writing desk on the other side of the room, scribbled a quick note and left it on her pillow, before smiling once more at her sleeping fiancé, giggling as she remembered accusing him of being able to sleep through a tornado in a hurricane, before opening the window and carefully…slipping outside and beginning her descent on the old drain pipe.

It was easier, actually; she could see what she was doing, thanks to the daylight, and sliding down was always easier than climbing up. She was on the ground in half the time it took her to climb the bloody thing from the other night. She smiled as she wiped her hands on her sides and then gazed up at the window, laughing as she thought how this was an odd "reversal of roles" for Romeo and Juliet. As tempting as it was to call out for her love, she instead turned and began her journey back up toward the house.

Despite the early hour, it was already obvious that the day was going to be a beautiful one. It was also going to be quite warm. While the ceremony itself was taking place in the village church, the reception to follow was taking place on the grand lawn of Downton Abbey. The gardeners had been working overtime, trimming rose bushes and planting new flowers; Granny herself oversaw the floral arrangements, as it was known among Sybil and her sisters that the Dowager Countess thought their mother had no taste when it came to such things. By now, Sybil suspected the tents were being erected, and the extra workers that were hired for the weekend, would be bringing out and setting up chairs for guests to sit. Mrs. Patmore and her staff would be hard at work on the lavish meal, and Carson would be standing by, ready to greet the delivery men bringing the fifty cases of champagne.

It was a terrible extravagance, and Sybil shared Tom's discomfort (and guilt) when they thought of the mountains of money being spent for this wedding. _Of course, it's not just_ our _wedding_, Sybil reminded herself (not that that alleviated any of her guilt). She and Tom sometimes joked about leaving all this behind and eloping, like two characters out of a gothic romance, abandoning all else and running off to Gretna Green. Was it too late for that?

Sybil sighed and shook her head, before continuing on her trek back to the house. Despite the money, and the stress that was her family, she was beaming. And how could she not be? After all…today was her WEDDING DAY! The thought did make her squeal with happiness, and she even tried to leap up into the air and do a little "heel click".

"Wow…"

Sybil gasped and turned her head. She hadn't realized someone was so close!

Just a few feet away from her stood a man…a tall, lean, dark-haired man with a pair of striking blue eyes, almost sapphire like in their shade.

Where he had come from, Sybil wasn't sure; perhaps he had been there all along and she had just failed to notice him.

"I don't know what you had to make you glow like that," he chuckled. "But I wouldn't mind having that, myself."

He didn't seem like a threat of any kind. He was certainly friendly…and his tone, while teasing, was gentle as well. And…there was something about him that seemed oddly…familiar.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to disrupt your walk," he apologized.

"Oh! Oh, no, you…you didn't," Sybil assured with a bit of a blush.

"Are you headed over to the big house?"

Sybil's eyes widened slightly. Was he a reporter? There had been so many this week, and while her father couldn't keep them out of the village, he was trying his hardest to keep them away from the house. She eyed him suspiciously, and looked him over, trying to see if he had a camera on him.

"I only ask because I'm on the way there myself," he explained.

Sybil's eyes snapped back up to the man's face. "Oh?" she asked, lifting an inquiring eyebrow. "Do you have…business there?"

He chuckled at her question. "Well, not exactly…unless you count wishing joy to the brides."

Sybil's brow furrowed with confusion. For a stranger, he seemed to presume much. "Do you…know the Crawleys?" she asked, not quite willing to reveal that she was one of the brides to whom he wished to offer joy.

He surprised her by nodding his head, and blushing a little. "I um…I do, though it's been a great number of years since I've been here…"

Sybil frowned, she even squinted her eyes, as if somehow that would help her determine who he was.

"Are you a friend of the Crawley family?" he asked, looking at her with interest.

Sybil was surprised by the question and blinked for a moment, not entirely sure how to best answer him. If he were such a good "friend" of her family's, surely he knew who she was? But he had said he had been away for a number of years…and just because he had told her he was a friend of the Crawley family didn't mean the _entire_ family. Nor did it mean he was telling the truth. Any photographer who managed to get close to the house, or better yet, _inside it_, on today of all days, well…they probably could retire, based on the money they would receive for such photographs.

"Do you know Lady Sybil?"

Sybil's eyes shot back to his. She winced and cursed herself for revealing her surprise, which no doubt gave herself away. She coughed and tried to appear casual, but she was terrible actress, she knew. "Lady Sybil?" she repeated, wincing even more at her bad acting.

He simply smiled and nodded his head. "Yes, although…forgive me, I made a dreadful mistake," he apologized. "She's not 'Lady Sybil', she's Dr. Crawley now."

Now Sybil was stunned. He knew that she…was a doctor?

"I have no doubt she's brilliant at it," he said with a grin, which was followed by a wistful sigh. "She was always good at patching me up…"

Sybil stared at him. "Patching…you…?" She looked at him again…looked at his face, his brow, his eyes, his nose even! His smile…

"But when she kissed my hand that day in the garage," he continued, looking down at his right hand, before meeting her eyes. "Well, truly, that was the best remedy a man could receive."

Sybil's mouth fell open. Now she understood perfectly why she thought he had looked familiar…

_"…Tom?"_ she whispered.

He smiled, a bit sheepishly.

Oh God…it was him!

_Tom Bellasis!_

"Hello, Sybil."

She stared at him, her mouth still hanging open in disbelief as she stared at the man who had once been a boy from her childhood, a dear friend whom she adored, but who she hadn't seen or heard in…heavens, too many years! And yet…here he was…just like that.

"You…you remember me?" she found herself asking when her brain started to function once again.

His smile was tender, and he tilted his head ever so slightly. "As if anyone could forget you…"

She didn't know why, but his words did make her blush.

"But…but it is you, isn't it?" she asked him, as if she still needed confirmation from him, even though she knew, now, without a doubt that he was indeed Tom Bellasis.

He chuckled, though there did seem to be a bit of melancholy in his laugh. "Well, I suppose you proved my point…" he sighed.

Sybil's brow furrowed. "Proved your point?"

He nodded, his smile, once again, sheepish. "That _I_ am rather forgettable…"

"Oh! Oh Tom, no, I…I'm sorry, I—"

"It's alright, Sybil," he chuckled, lifting a hand as a sign that she didn't have to explain herself or apologize. "Honestly, I bear no grudge nor do I blame you for not remembering me…because…it has been a long time, hasn't it?"

She nodded her head. "We were going on our way to uni…only you were going to school in America…and I was insanely jealous," she added with a giggle.

Tom Bellasis threw his head back and laughed. "Were you really?"

"Of course! You were actually doing it, 'getting away', whereas I only went as far as York."

He smiled and looked at her again with that slight tilt of his head. "You turned out pretty well, I think."

Again, she felt her cheeks flushing with color. "I did alright," she mumbled, her eyes falling to the ground between them. It was then that she realized that despite this little reunion, there was still a bit of distance. "I'm sorry, I…I still can't believe—"

"You don't need to apologize, Sybil, for anything…in fact, if anyone should apologize right now, it's me," he sighed, stuffing his hands inside his pockets of his trousers, a gesture that reminded her a little bit of Tom—_her _Tom_. _ "I shouldn't have teased you like I did back there; I should have just been straightforward and reintroduced myself again, but…" he sighed and brought a hand up to run it through his hair. "…But a part of me was hoping that perhaps, just maybe, you too would remember me as I remembered you."

She felt rather guilty at that, especially because they had been such good friends when they were children. But the truth of the matter was…until last night, when her father brought Tom Bellasis up in his speech, she honestly hadn't given the man much thought in…goodness knows how long; years perhaps?

"I'm on my way to the house, actually," she gestured towards the road. "Walk with me, and then you can say hello to Mama and Papa—"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude—"

"Oh no, you wouldn't!" she tried to reassure him. If truth be told, she wanted to make amends for her forgetfulness, as well as to reacquaint herself with him. "Please?"

He started to grin, and she couldn't help but giggle. Oh gracious, how could she have forgotten that smile? She could see the face of the boy she knew so easily now, when she looked at his smile.

"Well, it's hard to say no to a beautiful woman when she says 'please'," he teased, earning another blush from her. Her fifteen-year-old self would be squealing into a pillow right now for such a compliment from him.

They walked together, and Tom told her about his life, about what happened after he left for America to attend Princeton University, though she was surprised to learn that he had only been there for a year. "Why?" she asked, then blushed thinking that sounded rude. "What did you do instead?"

"Actually, I had a change of plans…" he explained. "I realized that for what I wanted to do with my life, I needed to go to one of the best schools of its kind."

Sybil's eyebrows lifted with curiosity. "And what was that?"

He grinned, looking a bit bashful. "I transferred to John Hopkins University," he explained.

John Hopkins University. The only reason she could comprehend for why he would leave Princeton for John Hopkins was because…

"Tom!" she gasped, stopping and turning and actually reaching out and grasping his arms. "Are you…?"

"Yes, Dr. Crawley, I am."

"Oh!" her hands flew to her mouth and she started to laugh, a sound of surprised joy. "Why didn't you say so, _Dr._ Bellasis?" She released his arm and gave his chest a reprimanding, but playful swat. He chuckled and blushed, but nodded his head with pride. "So…do you have a practice in America, then? Or do you work at a hospital—"

"Actually," his tone grew serious then, "I've been in Africa for the last six years."

Sybil's eyes widened at this. "Africa?"

He nodded. "South Africa to be exact—near Cape Town."

They had resumed walking, but Sybil was fascinated by this revelation. "Were you…were you working there?" She didn't want to assume he had automatically been part of an organization like _Doctors Without Borders; _after all, perhaps he lived in South Africa now, and had a practice there?

"I was—for a charity organization called 'Teddy's Heroes'."

That name sounded familiar to her. Where had she heard it before?

"It's a fairly new charity—pediatric AIDS, specifically."

Now she remembered. "That's Henry Talbot's charity!"

Tom stopped walking and stared at her with surprise. "You know Henry?"

"I do! I—well, I knew him a little; he dated Mary when she was at uni," she explained. "He came to Downton on a few occasions; you and I were still in school."

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "He must have come by when I wasn't around—I don't recall our paths ever crossing. I didn't meet him until I arrived in Cape Town…and I don't recall him ever mentioning Mary or your family."

Sybil found that interesting, but at the same time, if their paths had never crossed, why would either man make mention of her family? It was a strange coincidence, especially considering that Henry was here as well.

"They must have remained close," Tom Bellasis murmured. "Your sister and Henry, I mean."

Sybil frowned. She honestly couldn't recall the last time Mary had ever mentioned Henry Talbot's name. In fact, Sybil hadn't heard Henry's name uttered in years, not since Tom (her Tom) had told her about his being there at the Grantham Arms last night.

"Actually, I found out through my fiancé," she explained.

Tom (Bellasis) looked surprised by this. He also seemed to stumble, just slightly, in his walking. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking down at the ground as if checking to see what had caused him to stumble. He looked back at her with curious eyes. "Your…your fiancé knows Henry?"

"Well, sort of," she giggled. "He met him last night. He's staying at the Grantham Arms as well, and apparently received an invitation to the wedding—oh! Tom, where are you staying? Were you at the Grantham Arms as well?"

"Um, no," he shook his head, still seeming perplexed by this information that Henry Talbot was there. "No, I…I actually drove up from mother and father's this morning—I haven't been to the village in years, so I thought it would be nice to just…reacquaint myself with the place, take a stroll…" he glanced at her and offered a teasing smile. "…Hope that perhaps, by some miracle, I would cross paths with a lovely girl."

Sybil rolled her eyes and playfully shoved at his shoulder. "Enough flattery, Dr. Bellasis, save some compliments for the bridesmaids," she teased back.

He chuckled, but still seemed…puzzled, about something. "You said your fiancé met Henry last night…at the Grantham Arms." Sybil nodded. "And he must have told you, so…so that must mean that you…came from…" His face suddenly turned beet red, and he quickly looked away from her, as if deeply embarrassed.

Sybil blushed herself, however she didn't feel any shame for the truthful conclusion he had come to.

"Guilty as charged," she sheepishly teased. "Yes, I'm afraid you didn't come across me taking an 'innocent morning stroll', but that I'm actually on my way back to the house before anyone notices." She gave him a little conspiratory wink. "Promise not to tell?"

He smiled and nodded, though there was something…strange, about his smile. It wasn't as genuine as his previous smiles. He seemed…troubled.

"Well," he coughed and then cleared his throat. "Well…" he repeated and looked around, looking everywhere except back at her.

Sybil's brow furrowed. "Tom?"

He stopped walking and finally turned his eyes to her. "You know, I…I um…I think left something in my car—something I need," he explained, though he wasn't making much sense.

Sybil's frown deepened, especially as she noticed he was backing away. "Tom, what—?"

"I should go back," he interrupted. "But I'll see you again later, I promise."

Where was he rushing off to? What on earth had he left in his car? And was that really his reason? It just seemed so…sudden, and unexplained. Rather like his arrival after all these years.

He was walking away from her, and as tempted as she was to go after him, she also knew that time was of the essence and she needed to get back to the house. "Tom!" she called after him. "You will be there then? At the wedding?" Perhaps that seemed like a silly question, but he hadn't actually said that he was here for the wedding, that that was his sudden reason for coming back after all these years. Why hadn't her parents told her about inviting him? Were they still in contact with the Bellasis'?

He had been walking away from her, and at a quick pace. Yet he paused at hearing her question and looked over his shoulder, meeting her gaze. A smile slowly spread across his handsome face and he nodded his head. "I wouldn't miss it."

* * *

Sybil wasn't the only one "sneaking back". Anthony watched from his bedroom window as a car pulled up outside Locksley, the house's butler opening the door and offering his hand to Anthony's sister. Anthony frowned, and then turned away from the window, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt before leaving his room to confront his sister.

Margot had just removed her scarf and was handing it over to the butler, along with her coat, when she heard her brother's footsteps from overhead. "Ah! Good morning, Anthony!" she called to him, sounding ever so chipper, despite the fact that it wasn't eight o'clock just yet.

Anthony did not share her smile. "Where have you been?" he asked her. "I've been up since half-past six, and was told that you weren't here, that you didn't even spend the night!"

Margot seemed surprised at hearing this, though it was a "rehearsed" surprise. "Well…I forgot how quickly gossip can travel here."

He wasn't in the mood for her games. "Just…please, Margot, answer the question."

His sister cocked a golden eyebrow at this. "I don't care for your tone, Anthony; that almost sounds 'demanding'."

Instead of beating around the bush, he decided to confront his suspicions straight on. "Did you come from Downton? Was that where you spent the night?" It didn't make any sense; they had left the party together, his sister had insisted he ride back to Locksley with her, rather than spend another minute with either Mr. Crawley or Mr. Branson. "Did you go back?" he asked her. Why in heaven's name had she gone back?

"Is breakfast ready?" Margot asked the butler, ignoring Anthony altogether.

"Margot," he practically growled, his patience very thin.

She sighed (rather dramatically) before fixing him with a haughty stare. "Yes, I came from Downton, yes, I spent the night there—it wasn't an inconvenience to anyone, Lord and Lady Grantham told me I was welcome to stay."

Anthony was quite perplexed by this. Originally, when his sister was finalizing her travel plans, she had told him she had been invited to stay with the dowager countess. She seemed intent on accepting the invitation, a chance to reconnect with an "old friend", though Anthony wasn't aware that Margot and Lady Grantham were good "friends". Still, he didn't question the decision, in fact he was rather grateful for it, because his sister could be quite overbearing. However, upon arriving back in England, Margot had changed her mind, and decided to stay at Locksley in the end. She told him it was because she "missed the old place", and thought it would be lovely for the two of them, to be in a place surrounded by memories of their childhood.

His sister had never been one for nostalgia. Nor could he recall all of these "happy childhood memories" that she insisted that they had had while growing up. He couldn't help but wonder…was she choosing to stay at Locksley to keep an eye on him?

His face flushed with heat then. While both he and Edith had their own respective places in London, it was rare when they didn't spend a night together. He and Edith were quite…intimate, with one another, even before he had proposed marriage to her. He was old-fashioned enough to still blush at the truth of that reality; he wasn't as cavalier about the fact as either Mr. Crawley or Mr. Branson were with their respective partners, but even so…surely his sister didn't think that she needed to…to…

He cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. "You still haven't explained why, precisely, you went back to Downton after coming here to the house."

Margot groaned and Anthony thought he saw her roll her eyes. "I wasn't tired," she explained with a bit of a shrug of her shoulders. "And…I don't know, I was just 'caught up in the excitement' for the wedding, that I thought it would be nice to spend the evening at Downton, among the three lovely brides."

Anthony's frown deepened then. "Did you speak with Edith?" This was very much a demand, but he didn't care.

Margot frowned. "That sounds accusatory…"

Anthony lifted his eyebrows. "Does it?" He wasn't at all apologetic.

Margot eyed him for a moment. "I don't understand why," she sighed. "I mean, she's going to be my sister-in-law; am I not allowed to speak with her?"

Anthony's face reddened then. "No, I…that's not what I meant—"

"Then what did you mean, Anthony?" she asked, her own tone short and demanding.

"I…I only wanted to know if…if the two of you—"

"Why do you need to know?" Margot asked him. "Must all conversations with the future 'Lady Strallan' be met with your approval first?"

He was gritting his teeth. Somehow this had had all turned around and now he was the one being questioned and "put on trial" so to speak.

"She's very lovely, Anthony, but I've already told you that," Margot went on. "And she is sweet…and clever…and I can understand how a man your age was so easily won over by that."

A man his age…? Good God, his sister could cut to the quick. He opened his mouth to protest, or rather, defend himself from the accusations she was making, but Margot kept rolling on at full steam.

"I do worry, however, about your Lady Edith."

Anthony stared at his sister, and felt the blood drain from his face. "W-w-what do you mean?" he stammered.

Margot didn't seem the least bit phased by the concern on her brother's face. She was too busy checking her reflection in a nearby mirror, running her fingers through her short, graying-blond hair.

"Well, it's a great deal to take on, wouldn't you agree? I mean not only is she going to be the wife of a key cabinet minister—and have to take on all the responsibilities and expectations that position brings—but then there are her duties as a wife."

Her duties as a wife. Anthony frowned at this. He might be old-fashioned in some things, but by no means did he believe that a woman had to shackle herself to a specific role if and when she married.

"Edith is perfectly capable—"

"Is she?" Margot quietly interrupted. "Have you discussed it?"

Anthony was confused. "Discussed what?"

"About what should happen if…or rather, when, you die?"

If he hadn't been standing still, he would have stumbled at her words. That said, he felt as if he might stumble away from the shock of that sentence. "…When I die?" he choked out.

Margot turned away from the mirror and met his gaze, her own face hard and cold as stone. "I take that as a 'no' then?" When he didn't answer, she rolled her eyes and turned back to the mirror, taking out a tube of lipstick from her handbag. "I know this isn't the sort of thing you might wish to think about on your wedding day…" she began, pausing to apply the lipstick. "…But it's a serious thing to consider and keep in mind, and I think you better have before you walk down that aisle this afternoon."

Anthony swallowed and wished more than anything there was a chair he could sink into.

"Have you talked with your lawyers yet, about your will? You better get on that as soon as you return from your honeymoon—or rather, before you go, in case anything should happen."

He couldn't believe he was hearing this. "You don't have to sound so…so…so eager for my demise, Margot," he muttered.

She whirled around and gaped at him. "Eager!?" she gasped. "Anthony…how can you say that!" She looked genuinely hurt and even dug into her handbag to retrieve a handkerchief. "Do you think I _like_ to ponder these things?" she sniffled, pausing a moment to daintily blow her nose. "If you and that fiancée of yours had actually given these issues some thought, I wouldn't have to be the one to bring them up!"

Anthony watched as Margot dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose a second time. She could be very dramatic, his sister, overly so. And yet there did seem to be some genuine concern in her voice…and she was bringing to light some things that had been at the back of his mind as of late.

"I mean…it truly isn't something I like to think about, but let's be realistic, Anthony! Between the two of you…you will be the one to most likely to…well…to…oh, you know what I mean!"

He did, she didn't have to say. He was in his fifties and Edith was on the cusp of turning thirty. More than twenty years between them, and while his doctors had given him a clean bill of health, he knew that time itself, was not on his side.

"You have to think about her as well, you know," Margot continued, giving her eyes one last dab. "How she will cope, when the time comes, making sure she's well provided for—and what if you have children!? Good heavens, Anthony, have you even thought of that!?"

His head was spinning. And the knots in his stomach were tightening all the more.

"I don't say these things to sound harsh…" Margot murmured, turning back to the mirror to check her complexion. "It's just…you're my brother, after all, and I want what's best for you."

Locksley's butler appeared then and cleared his throat, announcing that breakfast was ready. "Ah! Splendid!" Margot said with a grin, as if nothing out of the ordinary had been discussed. She didn't even turn to see if he was following, she simply went straight into the dining room without another word.

Anthony remained where he was, trying to swallow the large lump in his throat. He couldn't eat now, even the thought made him nauseous. He mumbled something to his butler and turned and retreated up the steps once more, his mind buzzing. Both Mr. Crawley and Mr. Branson would be arriving in the next hour or so and he needed to pull himself together before they turned up. But even if he managed to do that…there was still the other matter at hand, the great looming event that was quickly approaching, one that up until a few weeks ago, he had so been looking forward to, but now…was secretly dreading.

* * *

The harsh beep of the alarm by his bedside dragged Tom from the most glorious dream, where Sybil was lying wonderfully naked beside him, her skin glowing, her eyes sparkling, her smile mischievous, and her hair beautifully tangled across the pillow, while she held her arms out, beckoning him for "another round" before greeting the day…

"Feck off…" he groaned, reaching out and slamming his hand down on the alarm. He squeezed his eyes and with another groan, reluctantly opened them.

And then he remembered everything, how it hadn't been a dream, how Sybil had been there—the little minx, climbing up the drain pipe to sneak into his room and "surprise him". He rolled over and sighed, disappointed that she wasn't there, no doubt rising just after sunrise in order to sneak back to Downton before anyone realized she was gone. But despite this disappointment, he couldn't stop himself from smiling as the wonderful memories of the night before washed over him…greeted by the wonderful truth that was today.

Their wedding day.

Tom's smile broadened even more at that thought.

He groaned as he sat up, his muscles sore after the unexpected "workout" they had received the night before. He gritted his teeth as he stretched his arms up over and his head, before rubbing the back of his neck and finally rising completely from the bed.

He glanced down and noticed a folded piece of paper on Sybil's pillow. He grinned and eagerly picked it up, smiling at the little message she had scribbled down for him:

_Meet me at the altar—love, Sybil (soon-to-be Dr. Branson)_

He chuckled, and even gave the little scrap of paper a kiss, before refolding it and deciding to save it so he could tuck into the pocket of his tuxedo for later.

That was one thing that he and Sybil had managed to keep some control over in regards to this circus that was to be their wedding. He didn't want to wear a morning coat, he couldn't stand the thought of himself in a morning coat, and while both Mary and Edith were wearing vintage bridal gowns, Sybil's dress (so she told him) was much more modern, therefore, Tom saw no reason to dress in the "traditional style" that both Matthew and Anthony were adhering to. Violet fought them, naturally, but he and Sybil remained steadfast, and in the end, Violet threw up her hands in frustration (though she would never, ever admit defeat).

His tux was already at Locksley, and he remembered what Matthew had said from last night, about when they were to be expected. He had a little over an hour, and despite his somewhat sleepless night, he was feeling rather energized. A run sounded like a great idea, and it would be even better if he could get Matthew to join him.

He pulled on some clothes and laced up his shoes, but upon approaching the door, noticed another slip of paper.

_Went for a run; didn't want to wake you; based on what I heard last night, thought you could use the extra hours for sleep._

Tom felt his face grow hot. Had they really been _that_ loud?

_Don't forget we're meeting Sir Anthony for breakfast at Locksley.  
See you then—Matthew_

He couldn't deny, he felt a bit guilty for missing the chance to enjoy one last "bachelor run" with his friend, but that just meant they would have to satisfy themselves by meeting up for morning runs as "old married men". The thought did make him chuckle, and he placed Matthew's letter on a nearby table, and turned the doorknob to—

Tom practically stumbled from the sudden jerk.

The door hadn't opened.

He frowned, and tried again. The doorknob turned, but when he pulled—

It wouldn't open.

It wasn't opening!

Tom tried again, and then again; he gritted his teeth and grunted as he pulled on that doorknob with all his strength. Why wasn't it opening!? Was it caught on something? But if it were, what was it?

He remembered the innkeeper warning him that the door was tricky, that sometimes you really had to put your shoulder into it to make it move, but…no, something was wrong, this wasn't just a case of the wood swelling due to moisture or frayed paneling or even squeaky hinges, there was something genuinely wrong, something that was _preventing_ the door from opening, as if something on the other side was holding the doorknob in place and refusing to let whoever was inside, out.

"HEY!" Tom pounded on the door, hoping there was someone close by, someone who could go and fetch the innkeeper for him, or even help unlatch the door from whatever was keeping it from opening, themselves. "HEY! ANYONE THERE?" he shouted. "HELLO!? CAN ANYONE HEAR ME!?"

Nothing.

"HELLO!" he raised his voice and began to pound a little louder. "HEY! THE DOOR IS JAMMED! SOMEONE, I NEED—"

As he was shouting, he continued to pull on the doorknob, but his speech came to a halt when with a loud clatter…the doorknob broke off and fell to the ground.

Tom's eyes widened with horror as he stared at the broken doorknob, and then at the door. There was nothing for him to grab onto. And the hole that had been left on the door where the doorknob had been was too small for him to fit his fingers through, not that would do him much good, as he needed to pull the door to open it, and with nothing to hold onto…

"HEY! SOMEONE! ANYONE!" he pounded with both fists on the door, then on the walls. Someone had to hear him, right? WHERE THE BLOODY HELL WAS EVERYONE?

He turned away from the door and went over to the clothes he had worn the previous night. In his pocket was his mobile; he'd call the front desk downstairs, and surely someone would…

Tom stared at his phone.

The battery was gone.

How…? When had that…?

He started to look frantically around on the floor, and even picked up his trousers and gave them a good shake, ignoring the spare change that fell to the floor, searching for the battery…and not finding it anywhere.

No. He couldn't believe it. He was…trapped. Trapped inside this fecking room and no one was around to hear him (apparently) and he had no fecking way of calling for help!

Suddenly the day he had been looking so forward to was turning into a nightmare! _This can't be happening! _ What was he going to do? How was he…?

A breeze from the window blew at his back. Tom turned and his eyes widened as realization dawned on him. He approached the window and looked out, or rather…looked down. Jesus Christ, how on earth had Sybil managed to climb…?

He followed the tiny ledge, looking for the drain pipe she had told him about. He swore again when his eyes finally found it—it was nowhere near the window! Again, how had she…?

He looked back over his shoulder at the broken door. He had two options, either stay in the room and continue to pound and hope and pray someone would eventually hear him and come to his rescue…or take his chances with the drain pipe. _Well if Sybil can do it…_

But Sybil was smaller, less bulky, and clearly she had experience in regards to these things, unlike himself. He didn't know the first thing about scaling walls or climbing up and down drain pipes. He didn't even like rock climbing, recalling that one time he let Sybil drag him to a gym where he nearly fell to his death (alright, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but he had come close to breaking his arm, and according to Thomas, if he had landed in a certain way, he could have broken his neck—)

_Why are you even thinking about this NOW?_

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He could do this, he could climb out a window and down a bloody wall. It wasn't that high…

"Fecking hell," he swore when he opened his eyes and looked down once again.

Why was this happening? That was the question he really wanted an answer to. Why and how. But the more pressing question at the moment was…would he manage to survive his wedding day at all?

* * *

_OH NO! :oO ;o)_


	8. Preparation: The Brides

_Well look what story is back from the dead! It's been a long time (too long) but here it is again! First off, I'm dedicating this update to the lovely **scathach124**, the STEAMM queen of the DA fandom, because it's her birthday! I would also like to shout out some thanks to other readers and reviewers who have found this story recently, as well as those of you who keep following and have been *patiently* waiting for an update. I apologize for that wait, but you'll be pleased to know that I've already started the next chapter, so sometime this summer, this will get updated again!_

_Things are kind of angsty right now, but I do promise that it will all end well. I'm also being wicked by *purposefully* not revealing certain puzzle pieces, although clues have been, and continue to be dropped...so feel free to share with me your suspicions ;o) But anyway, again, thank you for reading and sticking with this!_

* * *

_Chapter Seven_  
"Preparation: The Brides"

The big day was here at last, and like any woman in her situation, she woke early, with the sun just peeking over the horizon. Even though she knew breakfast wouldn't be ready for another hour, and that the stylists wouldn't be there until an hour after that, she rose anyway, and decided to begin the day—a day that would start a tremendous change in her life—with a stroll through Downton's lush gardens, taking in the beauty, and the calm, before glorious chaos erupted.

She quietly dressed, slipped on a pair of sturdy shoes, and tip-toed down the corridor, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Of course Carson saw her (ever the watchful butler) and he asked in a low voice, one edged with a touch of concern, "is everything alright, milady?" to which she assured him that it was, before assuring him that it would not be necessary for him to bring breakfast up early, that she simply needed to step outside and get some fresh air before the day, and all that would come with it, truly began. He nodded his head in understanding, and opened the door for her.

It was going to be a perfect day, at least from the perspective of weather. Sunny and warm, but not overly hot. The birds were singing a sweet, morning song to greet the world, and butterflies and bumble bees could be seen, flying this way and that, greeting each flower they touched with a kiss. She sighed and breathed in the air, enjoying the sounds of nature around her…and then softly laughing to herself as in the distance, sounds that one wouldn't necessarily describe as being "natural", could be heard.

The gardeners had risen early, doing whatever last-minute jobs they could to making sure the grounds were nothing short of perfection. Extra staff had been brought in to help set up tables and chairs, and sure enough, they were already hard at work. The tables were plain, but she knew within the next few hours, they would be adorned with satin tablecloths, beautiful centerpieces, and the finest china (not to mention a bucket of ice and a bottle of the finest French champagne). While it was tempting to go and oversee their work, she forced herself not to; they knew what they were doing, she would be more of an interference than a help. Everything was under control; she needed to remind herself of that, but she knew that it was true.

She continued her walk, passing the work crews and various trucks who were bringing every manner of decoration, and decided to venture a bit further than planned—away from Downton and further down the lane, towards the village (though for obvious reasons, she would not go that far). She relished the quiet once again, and paused for a moment to close her eyes and let her other senses take in everything around her…

Footsteps…

She could hear footsteps in the distance.

The person was moving quickly—running perhaps? Yes, they were running, but at a steady, even pace. She opened her eyes and turned her head in the direction of where she believed she had heard the running pair of feet…and if she squinted, she could see what looked like the form of a man, jogging, his back to her, and at least a hundred feet away from her. But she recognized his build, and both a blush and a smile crept across her face as she realized who it was.

She was tempted to say something, to call out to him, but…what if he turned around and saw her? What would she say then? Besides, it was against "the rules". No, just let him be, let him finish his run in peace. She would see him soon enough at the ceremony…and God willing, a great deal more after that.

She changed directions, being sure to walk away from the runner. However, she still kept some distance between herself and Downton, not ready yet to return to the house. There was a vast meadow on the eastern edge of the house; she decided to move towards it and run her fingers through the tall grasses there, something she loved doing whenever she had the chance to walk around the house's lush grounds. She tilted her face to the sun and smiled to herself as her fingers skimmed through the grass, enjoying this simple, peaceful pleasure…and soon realized at the distinct sound of a man sighing, she was not alone.

She looked towards the meadow, and her eyes widened at the sight of the young man…a rather tall, young man, with dark hair, who was standing with his back to her, and like the runner, a good hundred feet away. But despite that distance, he was sighing rather "dramatically", and he kept fidgeting from the look him. One minute he was taking his jacket off and swinging it over his shoulder, the next he was putting it back on, and then he would look down, begin pacing, before lifting his head and locking his eyes with the village in the distance…

Who was he? She couldn't tell from the distance, not like the runner, and the first thought that went through her mind was that he was a journalist of some kind, a photographer for some tabloid, yet…he didn't seem to be holding a camera, or at least she didn't see one. Still, just to be safe, she moved quickly towards a small grove of trees to her left, and hid herself behind a trunk. The sensible thing to do would be to hurry back to the house and inform Carson. However…she was curious, she couldn't deny, and so she decided to observe this tall, dark-haired stranger, just a little bit longer, to see if she could learn anything herself about who he was, and why he happened to be pacing and fidgeting in a meadow?

Her eyebrows lifted as she noticed his demeanor change. He had seen something…or perhaps…someone? Yes, because he seemed to stiffen nervously, before swallowing and taking a deep breath, forcing his body to relax…and then he was moving. Moving towards…whoever or whatever, she couldn't tell, not from where she was hiding. And as curious as she was, she knew that an attempt to leave and find out would give her away. So with great reluctance…she left the stranger to the meadow (and his possible rendezvous), and at long last, began her journey back to the house.

She paused on her journey to speak with one of the gardeners, informing him about the stranger she happened to see in the meadow. He reassured her that he would keep an eye out for the man, and if he suspected anything amiss, would not hesitate to radio security to remove the stranger from the grounds. She thanked him, and then finished her walk, reaching the house and deciding to go through the front door, so as not to be in the way of the kitchen staff who she knew had been up hours before she had risen…but paused as she saw...a young woman approach that back entrance.

And not just any young woman; apparently she wasn't the only Crawley who decided it would be nice to begin the big day with a stroll. Had she known Sybil would be out and about as well, she might have joined her. But then again, every bride needs some space for herself on such a day as this…and _she_ certainly appreciated having that space, so with that in mind, she chose not to call out to Sybil.

It was only until much, much later, that she realized that the direction where Sybil had come from had also been near the meadow. And upon realizing this, she also found herself wondering…had Sybil encountered the tall, dark-haired stranger? Which then led to the question…had _Sybil_ been the person _he_ had seen and had gone to greet, when he had disappeared from her line of sight? And if that was true, then…were they go each other?

* * *

"Where are my poached pears? DAISY!"

"Coming, Mrs. Patmore!"

As Sybil had suspected, the Downton kitchens were in an uproar. It was complete bedlam, with men and women in catering uniforms dashing to and fro while Mrs. Patmore commanded them all, with her poor sous chef trying desperately to anticipate her orders.

"You there, what have you got!?" Mrs. Patmore demanded of a tall, ginger-haired lad who had the misfortune for passing in front of her, carrying a silver tray.

"Um…salmon mousse, I think?"

"What the bloody hell are you doing with my mousse!? That needs to remain chilled until just before the meal—DAISY!"

"I've got it, Mrs. Patmore!" Daisy answered, taking the aforementioned mousse right out of the ginger-haired lad's hands. He stood by awkwardly, unsure what to do next.

Mrs. Patmore eyed the lad and groaned. "Daisy, give him something to do, please!" she groaned, before adding, "preferably out of my sight."

Sybil knew better than to interrupt, so she simply slipped by, but not without sneaking a croissant from a nearby pastry basket. It did not go unnoticed.

"Oi! Who do you think—oh!" the reprimand and insult died in Mrs. Patmore's throat as she realized who the "croissant thief" was. "Lady Sybil, what are you doing down here?"

Sybil gave the chef a guilty smile. "Sorry, I didn't get much sleep last night—" (not a lie) "—so I got up early for a little walk—" (also not a lie) "—and thought I would just slip back inside through the staff entrance," she finished, with a bit of a sheepish smile.

"Ah, of course," Mrs. Patmore nodded. "Nerves, I imagine; but don't you worry, by the end of the day, it will all be water under the bridge."

Sybil did smile at that. Indeed, by the end of the day, she and Tom would be married and could go back to their "normal lives". She looked down at the croissant and then back at the chef. "Mind if I take this?"

"Go right ahead!" Mrs. Patmore answered with a smile. "But I don't think it's too late to join the rest of the family upstairs; eggs, sausages, bacon—"

"This will do," Sybil assured. "Besides, I'm not sure my stomach could handle more right now." Which was strange, because when she first woke up she had been feeling quite famished (she always felt hungry after sex) but as she drew closer to the house…a slight wave of nausea had given her pause, and she bent over, with her hands braced upon her knees just in case. But then it passed, and she felt fine once again. Still, she didn't want to chance it. Not to mention she wasn't really in the mood to socialize with some of her parents guests, who would be in the dining room as well.

"That would be the nerves!" Mrs. Patmore chuckled. "Well go on then; we all have our part to play with getting ready for this afternoon," she said with a wink.

Sybil smiled and looked around at the chaotic kitchen. "Thank you, Mrs. Patmore, and good luck."

Mrs. Patmore snorted. "We'll be needing it," she muttered, before turning back to her staff and barking another order.

Sybil didn't linger; she quickly climbed the steps and snuck back into her bedroom for a quick shower and change out of the clothes she had worn the previous night. With her hair still damp, and wearing a white, fluffy bathrobe with the words BRIDE emblazoned just above the heart, she nibbled on her croissant as she made her way to the room that Mary had told her would be designated for their hair and make-up with the stylist. And not too surprisingly, Mary was already there.

"Good morning!" Sybil cheerfully greeted, before plopping herself down in an empty chair across from her sister.

Mary, who was wearing an identical robe, looked up from her phone at the sound of Sybil's voice, her eyes widening with surprise. "Good morning," she repeated. "And I thought I would have to drag you out of bed. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Sybil answered, taking another bite from her croissant.

Mary lifted a brow. "Did you get some breakfast?"

Sybil paused and then pointed at the croissant she was holding. Mary rolled her eyes. "It's a long time before we have a proper meal—you might want to eat something else."

"I'm fine," Sybil assured, not wanting to dwell on the topic of food. "And I'm not hungover, so you can stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Mary innocently asked, avoiding Sybil's glare by dropping her eyes to her phone once again.

Sybil couldn't see the screen from where she was sitting, but she didn't hide her curiosity. "Checking email?"

"Mmm," Mary simply answered, not bothering to look up.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "I think on your wedding day, you're permitted to turn your phone off."

Mary groaned and muttered under her breath, "You sound just like Matthew."

"Well he isn't wrong," Sybil teased, though she had noticed a slight…edge…to her sister's voice, when she had mentioned her fiancé's name. _Stress, that's all it is._ Then she remembered what Tom had told her, about Henry Talbot coming to the wedding.

"Mary…" she began, wanting to approach the subject carefully. "Do you remember…Henry Talbot?"

Mary lifted her eyes from her phone and looked back at Sybil in confusion. "Henry Talbot?" she repeated the name again.

Sybil nodded. "Back at uni, the two of you dated—"

"I remember," Mary groaned, rolling her eyes. "Why on earth…? I mean…why are you asking—"

"You don't keep in touch?"

Mary's confused frown only deepened. "No," she answered plainly. "I mean, we didn't part badly or anything, but…no, I haven't spoken to him in…years. I honestly can't remember the last time I had…" her voice trailed off and she looked at Sybil with narrowed eyes. "You didn't answer my question."

"What question?"

Mary fixed her with a hard look. "Don't play dumb, Sybil, not even Edith does that."

Sybil sighed and leaned back in her chair. "You really didn't part…badly?"

Mary groaned. "No, we parted as…friends…I suppose, but we didn't reach out to one another after our break-up. Sybil, just tell me, please," she all but begged, rubbing her temple to ward off the oncoming headache.

Sybil sighed again and met Mary's eyes. "Henry's here."

Mary frowned. "Here?" she repeated. "I…what do you mean…'here'?"

"I mean just that, he's…here."

Mary's frown deepened. "He's downstairs?"

"No, not in the house, but…he's here, in the village. Tom saw him."

Mary's eyes widened and Sybil suddenly realized her mistake. "What do you mean 'Tom saw him'?" Mary demanded.

Busted.

_"How_ do you know that 'Tom saw him'?" she continued, rising from her chair and looking like an avenging angel, ready to lay a city waste by just one harsh look from her eyes. _"HOW_ would he be able to tell that he had seen Henry, when you were _here_ last night!?"

While Sybil felt no shame for sneaking out and spending the night with her soon-to-be husband at the Grantham Arms, at the same time, she didn't want to go through the unnecessary drama of defending her choices, so with a slight guilty twinge, she stretched the truth.

"I ran into Tom Bellasis this morning."

The tension in Mary's brow slackened at the mention of the other Tom's name. "Tom Bellasis?" she repeated, her brow now furrowing once again with confusion. "Your Tom Bellasis?"

"No, _not_ 'my Tom Bellasis'," Sybil muttered, her face darkening at her sister's choice of words. "But…yes, _that_ Tom Bellasis, the one whom Papa mentioned last night in his speech," she added, her face still burning with embarrassment.

Mary sagged back down onto her chair, assessing this information. "So…so when you said 'Tom', you meant—"

"Tom Bellasis, yes," Sybil mumbled, though she didn't meet Mary's gaze. It wasn't a complete lie, Tom Bellasis had mentioned Henry Talbot's name…though it was her who had told him about Henry being in Downton.

Mary continued to process this information. She then looked at Sybil and asked, quite bluntly, "Didn't you fancy yourself in love with him once?"

Sybil's eyes all but bulged from her head at her sister's question. "I had a crush on him when I was a teenager, but that's HARDLY…" her face was on fire and she wished more than anything there was something nearby that she could drink (preferably with alcohol in it). "I liked him, we were friends, but…like many friendships, we fell out of touch after we went our separate ways."

"Hmm…" Mary murmured, not seeming to notice Sybil's embarrassment. "How did you come to see him? I mean…he isn't downstairs right now, is he?"

Sybil shook her head. "No, I…I took a walk this morning," she explained. Not exactly a lie, after all, she had taken a walk this morning…she just happened to be walking back to the house from the village. "I wanted to clear my head after last night," she went on. "And…while I was outside, I ran into a man and at first thought perhaps he was a reporter or a photographer, but then he revealed himself to be Tom Bellasis, and I know he's Tom Bellasis because he said some things that only Tom Bellasis would know—"

"Such as?"

Sybil waved her hand. "That doesn't matter, but he did tell me that he went to medical school while in America—John Hopkins University to be exact," pausing for dramatic effect, but Mary didn't react one way or another to this detail. "Anyway, he's been in South Africa for the past few years, working for a charity organization, and guess who runs that organization?"

Mary shrugged her shoulders. "I haven't the foggiest—"

"Henry Talbot," Sybil finished, leaning back in her chair and waiting for her sister to respond.

Mary frowned once again. "Henry Talbot runs a charity?" she asked with a lift of her eyebrows.

Her sister sounded skeptical, but Sybil wasn't sure if that was because Mary didn't believe _her_, or she didn't believe the possibility that Henry Talbot would or could run a charity. "You sound doubtful…" she observed.

Mary shrugged her shoulders. "Well, it is a bit hard to believe," she muttered. "When we were dating, all he ever cared to talk about was cars and Formula One—oh thank God we broke up before you started dating Tom," Mary groaned, causing Sybil to giggle at the thought. "What's the name of his charity?" Mary next demanded.

"Teddy's Heroes," Sybil recited. "I confess, I've never heard of—"

"I have," Mary murmured, more to herself than to Sybil. She looked…troubled. Or was that puzzled? "Teddy's Heroes…" Mary repeated to herself, her voice softer. "How odd…" She lifted her eyes and met Sybil's gaze. "And Tom Bellasis did work for Teddy's Heroes in South Africa?"

Sybil nodded.

Mary leaned back into her own chair and once again repeated, "How odd."

Once again, Sybil nodded.

"Two ex's in Downton—"

"He's NOT my ex, Mary!" Sybil groaned.

"But it is strange, don't you think? BOTH of them, who neither of us have spoken to in…years…just show up on the same day?"

She wasn't wrong. It was strange, and yet, at the same time, there was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Tom said his family received an invitation to the wedding."

Mary frowned at that. "I oversaw all the invitations, went over each and every one before they were mailed out, and I most certainly do not remember EITHER name on the 'invite list'."

Sybil shrugged. "Perhaps Mama or Papa…or Granny…" she added, giving Mary a knowing look which caused the older Crawley sister to groan and nod her head in understanding. Still, Mary didn't seem satisfied by the explanation. "But why on earth would Granny invite either of them? Or Mama and Papa, for that matter."

Before Sybil could come up with a reply, a tall, thin man entered the room, with several ladies in black smocks behind him. "Ah, _Marie!"_ The man greeted in a thick, French accent. Mary smiled and rose to her feet, leaning forward as the Frenchman kissed the air around Mary's face. "Beautiful—_étourdissant!"_

Mary blushed, but smiled warmly back. "Thank you, Pierre, but there's no need to flatter me, especially now, before I've even—"

"It does not matter—_peu d'importance!_ You would be lovely if you wore…what iz zat? Zat 'orrid material used in bags?"

"Burlap," hissed one of the black-smocked women behind Pierre.

_"Oui!_ Burlap!" he spat the word and Sybil thought perhaps the Frenchman would actually spit in the literal sense to emphasize his point.

"Well thankfully, I am not wearing that," Mary assured, which earned a strange-sounding chuckle from the stylist, and thus caused his gaggle of workers to laugh with him. "Pierre…" Mary took control of the situation before the laughter got out of hand. "I would like you to meet my sister, Sybil."

The Frenchman turned to Sybil and gave a rather dramatic gasp, before throwing his hands up into the air. _"__Enchanté, mademoiselle!"_ he greeted, unnerving Sybil momentarily when he leaned forward to kiss the air around her own face. Pierre clasped his hands together and gazed at her both in an admiring manner, as well as one filled with scrutiny. _"Marie_—she is also beautiful—_charmant!_ From zey way you talk I would have thought—"

Mary cleared her throat, and Sybil raised an eyebrow, giving her sister a pointed look. Mary, a slight blush to her cheek and coughed. Pierre then seemed to recognize his error.

"Oh! _Je vous demande pardon_—zat was zey blonde sister."

Sybil's eyes widened. "Mary!" she hissed, glad that Mary at least looked embarrassed for Pierre's lack of tact (and her own wagging tongue).

"Hmmm…" Pierre, completely oblivious to anything he had said, was examining Sybil's hair. "Zis will be a challenge," he observed, earning an indignant look from Sybil (but like his comments, one he was oblivious too). "But nothing I cannot 'andle!" He clapped his hands and Sybil gasped as she felt herself being pulled down into the chair by two of the black-smocked ladies, and spun around until she faced the dressing mirror set-up in the room. Sybil fixed Mary with another glare, to which Mary tried to offer a somewhat sheepish, apologetic smile.

"Ah! There you are!" Cora Crawley exclaimed, entering the room and smiling widely at both Mary and Sybil. "Have you been up here this whole time? Your father and I were hoping we'd see you downstairs."

"I arranged to have breakfast in my room," Mary explained. "As for Sybil, she chose to rise early for a morning stroll."

Sybil inwardly groaned, knowing what was to follow.

"Oh?" Cora turned to her youngest, and Sybil saw her mother's sweet concern in the mirror's reflection. In a gentle voice, her mother cooed, "How are you feeling, darling? Are you nervous?"

"Mama…" Sybil groaned. She knew she would always be her mother's baby, but did that mean her mother had to continue…"babying" her?

Thankfully, Cora's attention went elsewhere. "Where's Edith?"

Mary sighed and gave a shrug of her shoulders. "Still in bed, I'm assuming—I did tell her when to be here."

"I'll go check on her," Cora volunteered, which no doubt was wise, because the last thing anybody wanted on the day when all three of the Crawley sisters were getting married, was a fight to start between two of them.

Sybil watched their mother leave, then turned to Mary (or turned as best she could, while her hair was being tugged in various directions). "You really think Edith slept in?"

Mary had resumed scrolling through emails on her phone, and looked rather bored when she lifted her head. "You were the last one who saw her; did you 'carry on' together after leaving my room?"

Sybil frowned at the insinuation. "No," she muttered. "Edith went to her room and I went to mine," _before leaving for the Grantham Arms_, she silently added. It was possible, she supposed, that Edith did, as Mary so elegantly put it, "carried on" after they had parted, but…Sybil honestly couldn't recall the last time she had seen Edith drunk…years, really. She had had a horrible experience and spent practically two days either in bed or running to the bathroom. But in all seriousness, Edith wouldn't risk doing anything that might jeopardize her health on this day. Of the three of them, Edith had been dreaming about her wedding day the longest, since they were children. Now that the day had finally arrived, the last thing Edith would do the night before was sit in her room and drink herself into a stupor, no matter how anxious she was feeling.

…Which actually might explain her absence. Edith had admitted that she was feeling nervous; perhaps she had struggled with falling asleep because of that nervousness, that when it finally did come, she was so exhausted she slept through her alarm?

"Be nice," Sybil warned, meeting Mary's surprised gaze in the mirror. "When Edith gets here, she'll probably feel terrible for having slept in."

"As she should," Mary muttered.

"Mary…"

"Fiiiiine," Mary groaned with a roll of her eyes. "Though it will probably alarm her more if I _don't_ say anything—that's just how we communicate Sybil, you know that."

Now Sybil was rolling her eyes. "Look, can we go through one day where the two of you are…civil, at the very least, to each other?"

"Oh honestly, Sybil, you make it sound like we're always at each other's throats."

"Probably because you are," Sybil muttered.

Mary didn't respond to that, she had gone back to looking down at her phone. Sybil sighed and gave up. Clearly everybody had their "coping mechanism" when it came to dealing with the day's stress. For Edith, that was oversleeping, for Mary, that was her phone, and for her…she wasn't quite sure what it was, but she shifted uncomfortably in her seat when her stomach made a sound.

Without looking up from her phone, Mary mumbled, "I told you that you should have eaten something more substantial…"

Sybil wanted to turn her head to shoot a retort back, but was prevented from doing so by Pierre yanking her hair in a different direction. "Ouch!"

Pierre didn't react at all to her outburst. "Now, mademoiselle, before we begin, do you have any sort of…how you say…_préférence_?"

"Yeah, I do," Sybil gritted her teeth and met the Frenchman's eyes in the mirror. "Not going bald!"

* * *

"Edith? Darling, are you awake?"

Cora paused, her knuckles still resting against the wood of the door as she waited for a response from her daughter.

None.

Cora frowned, and with pursed lips, softly announced, "Edith, I'm coming in…" and gently pushed at the door. Thankfully, it wasn't locked, and she was able to slip right in.

The room was dim, the curtains yet to be drawn. Cora made a move to cross the room with the hopes to open them, but gasped when she nearly tripped over something on the floor. "Good heavens!" She peered down at the carpet and was able to make out the shape of a shoe on the floor. It wasn't like Edith to leave clothes strewn across the floor, at least not from how Cora remembered her daughter's habits when she still lived at home. Frowning, Cora carefully moved back towards the door where the light switch was located. "I'm sorry, my dear, but I don't wish to break my neck on your wedding day," she muttered, before flipping the switch. Light immediately illuminated the room.

She wasn't quite sure what she expected. A mutter of protest, perhaps, for having her slumber interrupted? A groan, followed by a head burrowing further under the covers? Or possibly a gasp at realizing how late she had slept in? But none of the above took place. Edith remained where she lay, on her side with her back to her mother, unmoving. And if Cora hadn't been able to see the gentle rise and fall from her daughter's lungs, she might feel the need to panic. But instead, what she felt was…concern.

"Edith?" Cora murmured, quietly lowering herself to the edge of the bed.

Still no response.

"Darling?" she reached out and touched Edith's shoulder, to which her daughter…

Flinch wouldn't be the right word to use, but…she did seem to shrink away, ever so slightly.

"I'm awake, Mama," Edith murmured at last.

Her voice wasn't husky, like that of someone who had just awoken. Cora's concern began to grow.

"It's almost ten, dearest," she murmured, trying to be as gentle as possible with the reminder. "There's still some breakfast downstairs—I can have some warmed up for you—"

"I'm not hungry," Edith interrupted, her voice firm and flat.

Cora took a deep breath, calling forth her patience and forcing herself not to immediately jump to a conclusion that something was wrong.

"Edith, I know you're not going to like hearing me say this, but…you really should eat something; it's going to be a very long morning—"

She stopped speaking when Edith suddenly sat up, the motion so quick that it startled Cora and even caused her to jump slightly. Edith threw the covers back and was on her feet, her back still to her mother, but offering no explanation for the sudden change. Cora opened her mouth to murmur her daughter's name, and even began to reach forward to touch Edith's arm, but before she could do either, Edith had her gasping again as she took off, like a bolt of lightning, rushing to the adjoining loo and slamming the door shut in her wake. Cora sat where she was, frozen, and listened to the sound of her middle daughter retching.

She woke herself from her stupor and rose to her own feet, rushing herself to the bathroom and not even bothering to knock, flung the door open and without saying anything, leaned over her daughter and pulled her hair back as Edith clung to the porcelain bowl and emptied her stomach.

Cora's first instinct was to offer some soothing words, but in the end, felt perhaps that silence was best, and instead chose to run her hand up and down her daughter's spine in what she hoped Edith would translate to being a "soothing gesture".

Edith's grip eventually loosened around the toilet, but she remained on her knees, her body tense and uncertain. Cora didn't say anything, she simply waited along with her daughter, her hand remaining on Edith's back until finally, the muscles in her back began to relax. At this, Edith sagged back, away from the toilet, and reached for some toilet paper to wipe her mouth. Cora also moved into action, turning her attentions to the bathroom sink, and filling a small paper cup with water, before handing it back to Edith. Edith mumbled a simple "thank you", before gratefully rinsing her mouth out.

"Ugh," Edith groaned, before carefully rising to her feet. Her head started to pound and her stomach ached from being sick. Her throat was burning and there was still that foul taste in her mouth. "I need to brush my teeth," she muttered to her mother without looking Cora in the eye. She didn't even want to look at herself in the mirror, knowing it would be a horrible vision to greet her on the morning of her wedding.

Cora stepped out of the way, but she couldn't help but watch her daughter with some concern. She recalled being nervous on her own wedding day, but…it wasn't anything like this. Though she had heard stories from some friends, where nerves got the best of them and they too went running for the toilet. She patiently waited until Edith finished brushing her teeth and wiping her mouth a second time before saying anything.

"Do you feel better now?"

Edith made a face, but forced out the words, "I'm fine," before turning and walking back into the bedroom.

Cora wasn't convinced. "Darling, I know you won't like me saying this, but perhaps we should have Dr. Clarkson—"

"I'm fine, Mama, truly," Edith insisted, though she still looked pale and somewhat green. "It's just…stress. And nerves; I'll be fine."

Cora frowned, though she knew after thirty-plus years of raising three daughters, when the appropriate time was to push, and so forced herself to ease back.

"Mary is probably furious with me," Edith muttered, her hands rising absently to her hair.

Cora shook her head and went around to face her daughter. "She's not, and never mind about her," she insisted. "Pierre has his hands full working on Sybil's hair, and it will be some time before either he or his assistants are free, so why don't you lay down and rest, and as soon as they're finished with Mary and Sybil, I'll come and get—"

"No, I…I should be there," Edith insisted, and then moved past her mother towards the bathroom again. Cora watched her, her frown deepening even more. Edith was avoiding her eyes; to be perfectly blunt, Edith was avoiding _her_. Why? Had she said or done something to upset her?

The sound of water filled her ears, and Cora realized Edith had stepped in to take a shower. If that wasn't a dismissal, she didn't know what was. Still, it did mean that Edith wouldn't be able to so easily "walk away" from her, if she should stand outside the bathroom and attempt to find out what was wrong.

"Edith…" Cora began, trying to sound both gentle, but firm at the same time. "Darling…I hope you know that you could come to me and tell me if anything were…bothering you…"

She bit her lip and waited.

Nothing.

"I wouldn't say a word to anyone; you can trust me if you—"

"Mama, I'm fine," Edith insisted, and there was no denying the slight annoyed edge to her voice.

As before, Cora still wasn't convinced. "Darling, forgive me, I know you probably think I'm being a 'nag', but…did something happen last night—"

"NO!" Edith's raised voice actually caused Cora to jump. "Nothing happened! I…" her voice died away, as if she were trying to think how best to answer, which did nothing but raise Cora's suspicions that things were most certainly _not_ alright.

"Tell me what happened." It wasn't a question.

In the shower, Edith was leaning against the tile walls, wishing perhaps that the warm water that was coursing down her back could just sweep her away. "Mama, I told you! I'm _fine!_"

"Something's wrong—"

"No, it isn't!"

"Then why won't you look at me when I'm talking to you!?"

"I'm in the shower!"

"Not now, Edith, _earlier!"_ Cora's patience was gone. If her daughter had been hoping that she would just go away by being mysterious and aloof, she was quickly learning that was the wrong answer. "You've been avoiding my eyes, cutting off my sentences—"

"I'm just tired—"

"And yet when I insisted that you stay in your room and get some more rest, you dismissed the offer!" She waited to see if Edith had anything to add to that, but only the sound of running water could be heard. Cora sighed and tried once again to soften her voice. "Darling, please…talk to me."

Edith swallowed and wrapped her arms around herself. Despite the warmth of the water, she felt rather cold. "There's nothing to say," she murmured, her voice so soft that she wondered if her mother had heard her over the shower.

But she had. And because her daughter wasn't offering a better explanation, Cora couldn't help but draw up her own conclusions. "Is it Sir Anthony?" she asked at last.

Edith tensed at her mother's question. "Ww-w-what about him?" she stammered.

"Forgive me for asking this, but…darling, are you having second thoughts?"

She was stunned by the question, and stood there, the water pelting down atop her head, her mouth agape for several long seconds, before finally managing to stammer, "N-n-no!"

"Then _what_ is it, exactly?"

Edith swallowed and considered the question. Cora waited, holding her breath as her mind went back and forth, trying to imagine the various scenarios that could be troubling her daughter. Finally, "Mama…" Edith began. "Please…just…just trust me and take my word on this; I'm alright, and I'm _not_ having second thoughts."

Cora considered both Edith's words, and her tone of voice. "Truly?" she found herself asking.

Edith sighed. "Truly."

"Alright…" Cora sighed herself. "I believe you," because she wanted to believe her daughter. But at the same time, she still had doubts. "But you do know that if something were bothering—anything," she insisted, before Edith could interrupt. "You would and WILL come to me, won't you?"

Cora waited, anxious to hear her daughter's affirmation. There was no guarantee that Edith would say anything, but regardless, Cora wanted her daughter to know that whatever burdens were troubling her, she didn't have to bear them alone.

"I will, Mama," Edith finally answered after a long pause.

"Promise?" Cora added.

Edith groaned, but nodded her head before saying, "Yes, I promise."

Despite her worries, Cora did smile at that. "Good," she murmured. "Alright, I'll cease my 'nagging' for now…but I am going to go and tell your sisters that you're resting—"

"Oh, Mama, please don't. Mary will—"

"Never mind about Mary," Cora repeated from earlier. "I'll handle your sister; besides, she's got enough on her mind as it is." Mary always did a marvelous job appearing calm and collected, but Cora could tell, under her daughter's many cool layers, that she was every bit as stressed as Edith was clearly feeling. "But do rest at least a little bit; and while I know the thought might sound unappealing, try to have some toast or something—I'll ask Anna to see that some is brought to your room. You need to eat _something_, Edith; otherwise you might faint before you reach the altar."

Edith was going to argue the point, but her mother had cut her off before she could even open her mouth, so she simply muttered, "yes, Mama."

"Alright…" Cora took a deep breath, not feeling entirely satisfied, but better than she had felt ten minutes ago. "Alright," she repeated again. "I'll come back and check on you in an hour."

"Half an hour," Edith challenged. "I don't want Mary thinking I'm receiving 'special treatment'; I'll never hear the end of it," she groaned.

"Forty-five minutes then," Cora compromised, to which Edith made a sound of reluctant agreement.

That seemed to settle the whole matter. Cora knew that if she didn't go now and leave Edith in peace, her daughter might spend the rest of her wedding day in the shower, so she murmured a sweet endearment, before finally leaving the room the at last.

"Ah! The girls said you could be found here…"

Cora lifted her head and offered a small smile to her mother. Martha Levinson frowned as she drew closer, seeing the stress lines on her daughter's face. "Is Edith still in her room?" she asked, looking beyond Cora to the closed bedroom door.

"She's not feeling very well," Cora explained to her mother. "Nerves," she added, for further clarification.

Martha nodded her head, though she was still frowning. "Hmmm, strange."

Cora's brow furrowed. "What is?"

"Oh, well, simply that last night at dinner, she didn't seem to be too nervous—anxious, certainly, but not 'nervous'."

"Well, a lot can change between the night before your wedding to the morning of," Cora defended, though she couldn't deny the unease which filled her at her mother's observation. "Anyway, I told her to rest a little longer; Pierre and his team can help the rest of us get ready in the meantime."

Martha gave a snort at that. "I'm not letting that Frenchman come within a mile of my hair," she muttered, lifting a hand to touch her obvious red dye-job.

Cora rolled her eyes, but then her face transformed into a smile of relief at the sight of Anna, Mary's personal assistant, coming down the corridor. "Oh Anna, I'm glad you're here; I'm afraid Lady Edith is feeling a little under the weather…would you be so kind as to see that some toast and a cup of tea are brought to her room."

"Of course, milady," Anna quickly answered, though a shadow of concern passed over her face. "I hope it's nothing serious..."

"It isn't," Cora all too quickly assured.

"Just a touch of 'wedding day jitters'," Martha unhelpfully added.

Cora groaned and Anna bit her lip to keep from laughing. "I'll see to it right away," she promised.

"Thank you, Anna, and I know I can count on your discretion."

"Of course, milady," Anna replied, before turning and taking one of the side-staircases that would lead down to the kitchens, to fetch Edith her toast.

After she had departed, Martha turned back to her daughter and lifted a questioning red eyebrow. "Discretion?"

Cora felt her cheeks grow hot. "I didn't want to cause Edith any embarrassment," she defended, before turning on her heel and heading back towards the dressing room where Pierre and his team were with Mary and Sybil.

Martha pursed her lips and glanced back at her granddaughter's closed door. "Hmmm…" she simply murmured to herself, before turning and following her daughter.

* * *

"Whatever you're doing on that thing…" Violet Crawley sneered at the phone in Mary's hand. "...better have nothing to do with a certain gentleman with whom you'll be marrying later today."

Mary groaned and lifted her eyes away from the screen. "I'm not texting Matthew, Granny," she assured.

"I'm happy to hear it," Violet answered, her eyes examining her reflection in one of the dressing room's mirrors. "Rules are rules after all."

Sybil snorted from her corner of the room. "I don't think those ancient men of yore considered the idea of people messaging one another via little hand-held boxes, Granny."

"That's beside the point," Violet argued, fixing her youngest granddaughter with a harsh look. "As much as it might pain you to hear, Sybil, traditions exist for a reason! Without them, Society falls apart!"

A cheeky grin began to spread across Sybil's face. "Is this the part where you burst into song?"

"Enough, Sybil," Mary warned, shaking her head at her sister.

"It's alright, dear, I can handle your sister," Violet assured, her eyes never leaving Sybil's face. "I may be old, but I am not naïve; I know that all three of you, like many girls your age, have already dispensed of the 'allure of the wedding night' with your future husbands."

Sybil, who was drinking a mimosa that had been brought to the dressing room, nearly choked at her grandmother's statement. Mary was shocked as well, and even glanced somewhat bashfully towards Pierre and his team, but they were too busy with their work to even bat an eyelash at the words that had been spoken.

"Therefore the need to uphold such a tradition—of the bride and groom not seeing one another before the wedding—is more important than ever before!"

Mary gave Sybil a knowing look of her own. "Bring some 'mystery' back, if you will," she clarified to her grandmother.

"That's one way to put it, I suppose," Violet conceded. Sybil just rolled her eyes. "As for you, my dear…" Violet turned her attentions back to Mary, or rather, back to Mary and her phone. "Whatever it is that has grasped your attention in such a manner…CAN WAIT!"

Sybil gave another snort. "Good luck convincing her of that, Granny."

Mary frowned at her sister. "I'm just checking and responding to a few emails—I won't be back in the office until Wednesday, and I want to make sure—"

"Wednesday!?" Violet sputtered, looking aghast at this revelation. Even Sybil looked surprised. "What do you mean?"

Mary swallowed, cursing herself for not being more careful with her words. "It means...that I'll be back in the office on Wednesday," she answered, sitting up a little straighter in her chair.

Violet frowned, and Sybil looked confused. "When you say 'Wednesday', you mean…this upcoming Wednesday?"

Mary groaned and fought the urge to roll her own eyes. "No, Sybil, I mean some random Wednesday a year from now—OF COURSE I mean this upcoming Wednesday."

She was unnecessarily losing her temper, and sounding rather defensive, and yet Mary couldn't help it; she knew that judgements were being made in regards to her choices, even before she had an opportunity to explain herself.

"But…aren't you and Matthew going on a honeymoon?" Sybil asked, her gaze drifting to that of their grandmother, as if expecting her to have an answer.

Mary sighed and finally set her phone aside. "No, we…we decided that…that a honeymoon was unnecessary."

_"Unnecessary!?"_ Violet repeated, sounding more outraged than shocked by the revelation. Mary closed her eyes to summon what patience she could muster.

"Yes, Granny, unnecessary," Mary defended, sitting up straighter. "Both Matthew and I are very busy people, there's a great deal of work to be done for the Grantham Foundation with the extra charity events coming this autumn, and the wedding has taken away so much time, that…a honeymoon would simply be impossible to manage."

"You have an assistant, don't you?" Violet asked with a pointed look. "You pay her for a reason, don't you?"

Mary's eyes widened at her grandmother's words. "I am not going to…to _dump_ all of this on Anna! I would NEVER do that, to her or anyone! This is MY responsibility, my work, and my choice!" She glared at her grandmother, as well as her sister and anybody else that dared to look her way. "And I resent the fact that I have to explain it."

Violet lifted a haughty eyebrow at that. "Explain it? Or 'defend it'?"

Mary's eyes narrowed. "Matthew and I don't need a honeymoon—a long weekend fits us perfectly. We discussed this several months ago, and we're both happy with our decision."

Both of Violet's eyebrows lifted at this. "Are you?"

"YES!" Mary practically shouted, then blushed deeply with embarrassment for her tone. She took a deep breath and lifted her head. "Yes," she repeated once again. "Having a honeymoon does not guarantee 'marital bliss'! And there is no 'tradition' that says a couple must have one," she added, her eyes never leaving her grandmother's face.

The dowager countess' posture eased back slightly, and she tilted her head to an angle, and looked at Mary in a similar manner to that of a scientist examining an insect trapped in a jar. It unnerved her, but she tried not to show it and instead went back to scrolling various emails on her phone, feeling that she had made her point.

Oh, how she should have known better…

"Pierre…" Violet murmured, her voice soft but clear.

"Oui, Madame?"

"Would you and your crew be so kind as to give us a moment?"

Pierre glanced back and forth between granddaughter and grandmother, but neither woman indicated anything to him, let alone look at him as they were too busy facing the other down. So he cleared his throat, murmured, "But of course, Madame," and clapped his hands, muttering a few words in French to his assistants before shushing them out the door.

"You too, Sybil."

Whatever teasing mirth had been in Sybil's eyes from earlier was gone completely, and she glanced nervously past their grandmother to Mary. "Granny, I don't think—"

"Precisely, my dear; don't think, just do as you are told for once."

Sybil's face reddened, and she looked as if she might utter a retort, but Mary stopped her by looking at her sister and saying, "perhaps you can go and check on Edith? See what's taking Mama so long."

Sybil sighed but nodded her head, before rising from her chair and leaving the room until it was just the dowager and her eldest grandchild.

Mary slumped back in her chair, already exhausted from arguing with her grandmother. "Whatever it is you have to say, I beg that you say it so we can move on—it's a busy enough day and we're already falling behind on schedule thanks to Edith's absence—"

"Mary," Violet interrupted. "What is today?"

Mary blinked. "…What?"

"I asked you to tell me, 'what is today'?"

"Granny…you know very well—"

"Tell me!"

"It's our wedding day!" she angrily snapped, her hands gripping the arms of her chair, her knuckles turning white as she glared back at her grandmother. "There, is that what you want me to say? I'll repeat it again: it's our wedding day. Now go on, dispense whatever piece of advice you wish to dispense so we can move on—"

"Oh my dear," Violet sighed, her eyes closing her and her head bowing in a gesture similar to one who is disappointed. "You're missing the point."

Mary groaned, her grip loosening and her body sagging further into her chair. Of all the days…

"Then please…enlighten me, Granny."

Violet lifted a brow at this, no doubt recognizing the sarcasm in Mary's voice, but Mary honestly didn't care nor did she intend to apologize as she honestly felt this was her grandmother's doing—goading her into an argument over something so trivial. What did it matter how she and Matthew spent their time after the wedding? Why must they "do what other couples do"? What business was it of theirs? No, no she refused to be made to feel "guilty" for—

"Mary…"

Her grandmother's voice was softer, and her expression kinder. The critical look in her eyes had transformed to that of concern, which in Mary's opinion was even worse. _I do not want to be pitied! I don't deserve to be pitied!_

"Today is your wedding day," Violet began, but Mary couldn't help but groan in frustration.

"That's what I said—!"

"No, you said today is 'our' wedding day."

Mary stared at her grandmother, baffled by whatever point she was trying to make. "…So?"

"So…instead of pausing to think about this day being special for you and Matthew, you phrased it in such a way to include your sisters."

She was even more perplexed. "And that's wrong?"

Violet sighed. "No, it's not 'wrong', but…it isn't right, either."

"Granny…" Mary's hand returned to her temple. "Please…speak plainly, that's never been a problem for you."

Violet pursed her lips at her granddaughter's comment, though she didn't argue against it either. "Do you love Matthew?"

Mary's eyes widened with surprise. "I…Granny, why would you—?"

"Just answer the question, please."

She blinked, shifted uncomfortably in her chair, before finally answering, "Yes, yes, of course I love him—I'm going to be marrying him this afternoon—"

"Then focus on that," Violet insisted, surprising Mary further by reaching out and gripping both of her hands, forcing her to give her full, undivided attention to her grandmother. "Don't worry about schedules, or who should be where, or even who's in charge of this or that…you've done a wonderful job with planning this entire wedding…now it's time to let go of those plans and let those we've placed in charge of seeing them through, do their job. You're a bride, Mary—and today is _your_ wedding day."

Her wedding day.

Her wedding day that she also happened to be sharing with her sisters.

_Oh stop it; you had plenty of opportunities to say something and you didn't._

"Thank you, Granny," she murmured, not really sure what else to say or how else to respond. In truth, she didn't feel "better" or even more "at ease". If anything…she felt confused.

And based on the look on her grandmother's face, it was clear she felt likewise.

"Mary…is something the matter?"

Mary's eyes widened. And a rush of anger swept over her at the question. "Because I'm feeling stress about the day, choosing to look over emails from work, not purposefully excluding my sisters when thinking about today, or revealing that Matthew and I are not going on a honeymoon…that must mean something is the matter!?"

Violet released Mary's hands and eased away from her. "No…because I know you. You are more like me than either of your sisters, than even your own father. I know that no matter what I or others say, you're going to feel stress because you're the sort that naturally takes charge of a project. I know that looking at work emails is, oddly enough, a way in which for you to deal with your stress. I know that while the papers like to sometimes paint you as an ice queen, in truth you care very deeply for your sisters—Edith included—and would not dream of putting your happiness today over their own. As for the honeymoon, it's not so much that you've chosen not to take one that upsets me; in truth, the practicality of which you speak is very like you—and therefore, very like me, as well. But I do think you and Matthew deserve a holiday—and I also think it would be very good for you to take some time away from the office in general. But no…that's not why I'm asking if something is the matter."

Violet turned away then, and Mary watched as her grandmother reached for her handbag, and retrieved something which had Mary's eyes widening and her face paling at the sight.

"…This had fallen from your own purse the night before."

Mary stared at the object, then at her grandmother, then back at the object…before her face contorted and a loud sob escaped her throat.

"Oh, there, there," Violet murmured, coming to her granddaughter and wrapping her arms around her shaking, sobbing form. Like Mary, Violet Crawley had also been accused of not having a heart, but also like Mary…that simply wasn't true. "Hush, my dear…it will be alright…"

Mary sobbed even louder, and clung to her grandmother. "H-h-how?" she stammered. She honestly couldn't fathom how such a thing was possible.

Violet sighed and eased Mary's head away from her shoulder, reaching for a handkerchief from her purse and bringing it up to dry her granddaughter's face. "Thank heavens they haven't put your make-up on yet," she muttered, attempting to lighten the moment before asking, "Have you said anything to Matthew?"

Mary paled at the question, before her face turned red and her eyes looked downward with shame.

Violet simply nodded her head. "That's what I thought," she sighed. "Well…whatever you do, don't."

Mary snapped her up at her grandmother's words. "What!?"

"What I mean is, don't tell him until after the wedding," Violet clarified.

Mary stared back at her grandmother in horror. "But…but…I should…I mean, he…he has a right to know—"

"I'm not arguing against that, but…honestly, do you think telling him something this big, hours before you're to walk down the aisle, is the best time to do that?"

She had a point. But it didn't sit well with Mary, keeping this from him. _He has a right to know what he's getting into,_ she thought. But by that same token…when she had plenty of opportunities to tell him, why hadn't she said anything then?

_Because you're afraid. You're afraid that there are some obstacles that not even "true love" can overcome._

"Mary?"

Violet and Mary lifted their heads to the door, and Mary quickly finished drying her eyes before her mother, followed by her American grandmother and Sybil, entered the dressing room.

"Mary, is everything…" Cora paused and alarm flooded her face. "Darling, have you been crying?"

"I'm fine, Mama, truly," Mary lied. "Granny and I were…simply having a heart to heart and I…let my emotions get the better of me for once."

Cora looked suspiciously back and forth between her mother-in-law and her daughter, but chose not to argue the point further.

"Edith is feeling a little fragile this morning too," Martha volunteered before anyone asked or mentioned the missing Crawley sister. "Nerves, from what I understand."

Mary blew her nose. "Well, I'm sure we can all relate to that," she muttered.

"Madame? May we come back in?" Pierre asked from the corridor, his voice sounding rather frantic. Perhaps of all the people there, he was feeling the most stress out of everybody?

"Yes, Pierre," Mary answered on behalf of her grandmother, to which the Frenchman happily returned, his assistants directly following and returning to their stations prior to when they had been asked to step outside.

"I zee we are still missing your other sister, _oui?"_

"She'll be here soon enough," Cora insisted, her tone seeming to dare anyone to argue otherwise.

"Very well," Pierre murmured, motioning for Cora to take a seat so he could work on her hair, as his assistants attended to the other ladies in the room.

Mary glanced at her mother, her eyes narrowing slightly as she examined her. Her mother knew something…something that explained why Edith was absent…but whatever it was, her mother was choosing to keep it to herself. And keeping secrets was certainly something Mary could understand and relate to.

* * *

Edith absently nibbled on the crusts of her toast when she heard the soft knock on her door. Sighing, she rose to her feet and answered, "I'm coming, Mama."

But instead of Cora Crawley poking her head inside, it was Anna, who smiled warmly at her. "Sorry to disturb you, milady—Lady Grantham is a bit tied up at the moment; Monsieur Pierre has her under his 'creative thumb'."

Edith looked back at Anna…and suddenly felt a great weight being lifted from her shoulders. "Anna…actually, I'm very glad that you're here. I…" she bit her lip, suddenly feeling rather embarrassed. "Forgive me, I…I know you're very busy today, but…I was wondering…"

Anna's brow furrowed, and she stepped further into the room, letting the door shut behind her. "Do you need something, milady?"

"Um…yes, actually, but…I doubt it's something we have lying around the house."

Anna's eyebrows lifted at this. "I can have someone go and get it, if you tell me."

Edith swallowed a nervous lump in her throat. "Actually…Anna, it would mean so much if…if _you_ could be the person to do this."

Anna's eyebrows lifted even higher. "Me?" she asked with surprise.

"Yes, I know, you're very busy today, but…but I honestly don't think I could trust anybody else with this task—"

"What is that you need, milady?"

Edith wrapped her arms around herself and pressed her lips together. Was she really prepared to utter these words? No…not just yet. Which was why she had written down the specific item that she needed.

She handed Anna a slip of paper, and Anna took it, frowning with confusion as she looked down and read the words written upon it.

Edith watched as Anna's eyes grew large and round. Her sister's assistant looked up at her then and held her gaze, and while no words of acknowledgement or confirmation were spoken, there was a definite understanding between the two of them.

"I'll get right on it, milady," was Anna's answer.

A grateful smile spread across Edith's face, and she blinked back the tears of relief she could feel stinging the corners of her eyes. "Thank you, Anna," she whispered, meaning it with all her heart.

* * *

_WHAT'S GOING ON!? ;oP_


	9. Preparation: The Grooms

_And now, we'll check in with the grooms and see how they're fairing. If you recall, Matthew had gone on a run and was reassessing his relationship with Mary, Sir Anthony was also doing a little inward thinking, as well as dealing with his witch of a sister, and Tom was quite literally, "out on a ledge". Sounds like our grooms are in a bit of a pickle to say the very least._

_THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who read and reviewed! I'm glad there are people still enjoying this story (despite the infrequent updates)-you all are very much appreciated! And while yes, things continue to be a wee bit angsty ;o) I do hope you enjoy this chapter! Oh, and thank you also for sharing your "theories" on what's going on with the sisters. You'll soon see if you're right ;oP_

* * *

_ Chapter Eight_  
"Preparation: The Grooms"

He hadn't been able to sleep the previous night.

This was partially due to anxiety—after all, today he was going to see _her_ again; but also in part due to his rather…obnoxiously…loud neighbors. And now that he knew what he knew about that…

He stopped walking, his hands grasping his knees, his body bent over as if he were going to be sick. He hadn't eaten breakfast that morning, and after learning what he now knew, he doubted his stomach could handle anything.

He waited…and the wave of nausea eventually passed. He straightened up and tilted his head towards the sun, taking several deep gulps of air before opening his eyes and resuming his walk from before. He had to hurry; there wasn't a moment to lose…

_God, she looked beautiful…even more beautiful than I remember…_

He quickened his steps, and ignored that little voice in the back of his head that was already trying to reprimand what he was planning to do. But it had to be done, it NEEDED to be done. This was his last chance, to stop the both of them from continuing to make the same mistake again. It was time to make things right.

_May the best man win._ Only in this case, it was "groom". And oh, he intended to take that title.

* * *

This was madness. What on earth had he been thinking?

Tom groaned as he looked down, again, at the ground beneath him. Never in all his life, did two stories seem so tall.

He was sitting on the open windowsill, his hands grasping it so hard, his knuckles had turned white. As for his feet, they were currently dangling over the edge, his toes just barely skimming the thin ledge that ran along the length of the outer wall. Seriously, HOW had Sybil managed to do this? She was a great deal smaller, compared to his bulk, but still…how had she managed to keep from plummeting to the ground?

He swallowed and looked once again at the pipe which was only a few feet away, less than ten, surely. That was the challenge, to cross that ten feet somehow and make it to the drain pipe. Once there, it would simply be a matter of sliding down…right?

_Turn around; go back inside, keep trying to get someone's attention, someone will hear you, surely!_ "No…" he told himself with gritted teeth. He could do this, he COULD DO THIS!

Licking his lips, and still holding fast to the windowsill, he began to move his body, slowly, out of the window, his toes coming into contact with the ledge. It was too thin of a ledge for him to place his whole foot down (much less two), but…perhaps what Sybil did was hold on to the overhead gutter? Or the roof shingles? That must have been it; she held onto that, then…somehow…managed to slide her feet from that short distance between the window and the drain pipe…

Alright, he would need to turn his body around then. He would somehow need to twist himself so that he was facing the wall, and…just reach up…grasp the roof or the drain gutter…and carefully…

"SHIT!" Tom swore, nearly losing his balance in his efforts to turn his body. One foot slipped off the ledge and had he not been clinging to the windowsill so tightly, he certainly would have fallen!

_Oh God, oh God, what was I thinking? I can't do this, I can't…no, I have to, I _need_ to, just…just need to get my balance…_

Taking a deep breath, he regrouped himself and tried again. His body facing the wall, one hand still gripping the windowsill tightly, he reached up with the other and grasped the edge of the roof. "Alright…just…just need to slide my feet along…" he whispered to himself, swallowing the massive lump in his throat as he held fast to both the roof tiles and the window, as he slid his feet along the thin ledge.

But now the true test had come. Despite his near slip, everything had been easy up until this point. Now he needed to let go of the window, and hope and pray his grip on the roof tiles would be enough to keep him from falling, while at the same time, propel him to his right towards the drain pipe.

"I can do this, I can do this," he repeated over and over to himself. His breathing was coming in quick, shallow gasps, as if trying to "charge himself up" like rugby players before a match. He needed to let go of the window, he wasn't going to be able to move if he didn't let go of the window…

Of course, doing so was easier said than done. So long as he held onto that window, he still had the option of returning to the safety of his room. _But then what? You would be right back to where you started! _ No, he had already started this, he needed to finish it, he just needed to suck up his courage, let go of that window, hold fast to the roof, and slide himself over to that drain pipe which surely was closer than ten feet (oh please, God, let it be closer than ten feet).

_ You're getting married today,_ he reminded himself. _You love Sybil, you want to marry her, and you NEED to get to the wedding and you're not going to do that by just hanging out this bloody window all day!_

"Arrrrgh!" he practically roared, releasing the window and grasping the roof tile overhead.

There was a brief moment of weightless suspense, when his hand was trying to get a grasp of the roof, and his body somehow seemed frozen in a state between gravitational pull towards the ground, or a strange magnetic pull towards the inn, resulting in his body smashing itself against the Grantham Arms' walls. In that moment, he honestly wasn't sure which pull was going to win, but thankfully, it wasn't the first. His hand found the grip it needed, and he flattened himself against that wall so quickly, and with so much force, he thought perhaps he had knocked the wind out of his lungs.

"Fecking hell," he muttered through clenched teeth, his eyes squeezing shut, as if hoping he was in some sort of strange nightmare, and any minute he would awake and find himself still in bed, with Sybil lying next to him. But as much as he might wish it, he wasn't dreaming. He was very much living this particular nightmare.

_Move_, he told himself. _You need to move!_ The sooner he moved, the sooner he could get to that bloody drain pipe and get down!

Taking a few more quick breaths, and forcing himself to open his eyes, he gritted his teeth as he began to slide himself along the ledge, his body pressing itself as close as he could to the wall of the Grantham Arms, while his hands held firm to the roof tiles above.

…Or as firm as his fingers would allow. He was sweating due to his nervousness, and the same was true for his palms. "Come on, come on," he told himself. He turned his head towards the pipe, thinking that it couldn't be that much further, and perhaps it wasn't, but it certainly felt like it was! "Just keep moving," he growled. God, his limbs were on fire—every muscle was tense, and his knees were shaking which wasn't helping his balance. He just needed to get a little closer…just a little closer then he could reach out, grasp the pipe and climb down—

"FUCK!" he swore, as a tile came loose in his hands. He grasped at another tile quickly, clutching it and smashing his body once again against the wall of the inn. And despite his earlier mantra, he found himself groaning and muttering to himself, "I can't do this, I can't do this…"

_But you have to! You must! For Sybil…_

Sybil. If she were here…well, if she were here, she'd probably have told him to stay put, she'd find a way to get his door to open, before scaling the pipe once again, and rescuing his arse. At the very least, she would be saying encouraging words, cheering him on, assuring him that he could do it, that he was close, all he had to do was take another two steps…just two more steps, and then he would be close enough to reach for the pipe…

"Two more steps, two more steps," he began to repeat over and over. "Do it, do it, DO IT!"

Gritting his teeth, Tom once again began to move, gripping the tiles, feeling them cut into the flesh of his fingers, but not caring, just needing to move closer…slide one step closer…he could do this, he WOULD do this!

His body was shaking, warning him that he wasn't going to last much longer if he didn't hurry. "Come on…one more step, one more step and then I can reach the pipe, just one more, just one more…"

His feet gave out, unable to handle the stress of the thin ledge anymore. But before he could fall, Tom roared and lunged for the pipe, his hand making contact.

…For the moment.

For one blissful moment, Tom thought he had made it. He thought he had a hold of the pipe, he thought that his nightmare was over, that he could relax and begin his descent at last.

But the truth was, his hands, wet from a combination of blood and sweat, were too slippery and unable to hold a firm grip. And before his left hand could grasp the pipe that his right one had lost a hold of…his body began to plummet.

He didn't even have the chance to cry out, the shock of actually falling robbed him of his breath, and by the time he seemed to have found his voice, his body met the hard, sharpness of the earth. And then everything went black.

* * *

"Tom? Tom, I've left you six text messages, and this is my third voicemail—_WHERE ARE YOU!?"_

Matthew groaned and hung up, before glancing at a mantle clock. Surely his friend wasn't still sleeping? Oh God, he should have gone back upstairs at the Grantham Arms, after he had finished his run; no, he should have knocked on Tom's door _before_ he had even left the inn that morning! Let the man "suffer" the consequences of not getting enough sleep; it would be ten times better than the suffering he was doing now!

"I'm going to kill him," Matthew muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Because if I don't, Sybil will…or worse, Mary."

"Still no word?"

Matthew looked up and met Sir Anthony's concerned gaze. "No," he sighed, before looking back down at the blank screen of his phone. "Not yet, at least."

Anthony tried to offer a sympathetic, and possibly supportive, smile. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about…" although even as he spoke the words, Matthew could see that the older man was struggling to believe them. "Perhaps his alarm didn't go off? Or his phone died and he forgot to charge it?"

Matthew knew that Anthony was trying to be helpful, but it wasn't working. It just made him all the more anxious, wondering what had become of his friend.

"Perhaps…" he murmured. "But…but it's just not like him to…to be so…so…"

"Irresponsible?"

Matthew turned his head to the voice that had spoken, his eyes meeting those of Lady Margot, who was looking rather smug.

"Margot, please," Anthony groaned under his breath, offering Matthew an apologetic smile, before turning and moving towards his sister, placing a hand on her shoulder as if hoping to steer her back into the breakfast room where Matthew had escaped to make his third phone call of the morning.

"Well I'm sorry, Anthony, but a fact is a fact! We slaved all morning to make this 'groom's breakfast', and one of the grooms isn't even here to partake!"

"I think you'll find that Mrs. Reynolds was the one who prepared it, and even she would argue and say that she hardly 'slaved away'," Anthony muttered, looking rather embarrassed at Matthew for his sister's words. Matthew did think Lady Margot was perhaps being a bit harsh, but then again, he couldn't entirely blame her for being annoyed by Tom's absence. _HE_ was annoyed by Tom's absence! Still…as he had said to Sir Anthony, it wasn't like Tom to be so…well, as Lady Margot had said, "irresponsible".

"Not to mention his absence is keeping Mr. Crawley from eating," Lady Margot continued to grumble. "It's as if he's not even here, either."

"Margot!" Anthony hissed, but if his sister was meant to show any shame for her words, none was to be seen.

"I do apologize, Lady Margot," Matthew murmured, offering the woman a sincere smile that he hoped would pacify her, at least momentarily. Lady Margot simply raised a scrutinizing eyebrow at him.

Matthew swallowed, then turned to Sir Anthony and pasted a smile on his face, before saying, "shall we?" and led the way back into the breakfast room.

Lady Margot watched him go ahead of her. "Well, at least his manners aren't a complete disaster, which is more than I can say for his 'friend'—"

"That's enough!" Anthony hissed at his sister.

"Quite," she responded, though Anthony sadly knew better than to hope that she was going to let the subject drop completely. He followed her back into the breakfast room, and in a rather defeatist manner, eased himself back down onto the chair.

"So, Mr. Crawley…" Lady Margot began, returning to her seat and holding her tea cup out, waiting for someone to fill it. "I feel I hardly know you, tell me more about yourself."

Matthew paused, his fork inches from his mouth. "Oh, um…well, I was born and raised in Manchester—"

"Yes, yes, Anthony has told me all of that," she waved her hand dismissively towards her brother. "No, tell me about school—where did you go? Oxford? Hull?"

"Cambridge, actually," Matthew answered, which did earn a somewhat pleasant and surprised smile from Lady Margot.

"And before?"

Matthew paused again. "I'm sorry?"

"Before you went to Cambridge," she clarified, though something in her tone suggested she thought this question more than obvious.

Matthew frowned, still not quite understanding what she was getting at. "Well…as I mentioned before, I lived in Manchester my entire young life—"

"I understand that you didn't attend Eaton or Harrow, but I'm sure even Manchester has some excellent schools for vibrant young men, such as yourself."

Matthew felt his face turn red and Anthony began to cough, while giving his sister a look of warning to which she completely ignored.

"Alright, never mind that; tell me about how you and Lady Mary met? I'm certainly curious about that, seeing as how you both come from such different worlds."

"Margot," Anthony muttered.

"But surely you must have _some things_ in common, otherwise how can you explain your forth-coming marriage?"

"Margot!" Anthony wasn't holding himself back any longer, and looked ready to leap to his feet any second.

"Please, Anthony, there is no need to raise your voice," Lady Margot groaned, rolling her eyes before turning her attentions back on a rather baffled Matthew. "Well?"

Matthew was honestly at a loss for words. Especially after Lady Margot's question about _"you must have some things in common". _Her words reminded him of the words Henry Talbot had mentioned the previous evening, and just as he had done last night, so too again did he find himself wondering…just where, and how, and what exactly did he and Mary have in common?

"Margot," Anthony spoke up again, his voice softer but every bit as firm. "You said so yourself that Mr. Crawley hadn't had the chance to eat, and your questions are keeping him from doing that. So why don't we leave Mr. Crawley in peace to finish his breakfast?"

But the truth of the matter was, Matthew had no appetite. He was still feeling anxious in regards to Mary and whatever was troubling her, and now he was feeling anxious in whatever the problem was that keeping Tom from joining them this morning.

What he needed was another run, another chance to get away and "clear his head". But that would be out of the question now…but a drive, on the other hand…

"Anthony, do you mind if I borrow your car?" Matthew asked. "I think I should go and check on Tom—as I said, this isn't like him, and—"

"Of course," Anthony answered, rising from his chair and offering Matthew a smile of understanding as well as one that was apologetic, mainly because of his bothersome sister. "I'll ring for Higgins and he can bring you the keys."

"Thank you," Matthew murmured, truly meaning it. He was grateful for the car, as well as for the chance to simply "get away" from another one of Lady Margot's questions.

As for Lady Margot, she did not look pleased in the slightest. "I'm sure you're both worrying over nothing," she muttered. "I mean the man is _Irish_, isn't he? That should explain everything."

Anthony's eyes widened at the insinuated insult. But before he could respond, Higgins the butler appeared. "You rang for me, sir?"

Margot took a sip from her cup and waved her hand towards Higgins. "Mr. Crawley will be needing the car, Higgins—is there a particular car he'll be taking, Anthony?"

"It doesn't matter," Anthony muttered to the butler, before offering Matthew another look of apology. Matthew tried to respond with a smile, mainly to put Sir Anthony at ease, but he was far more concerned with finding out what was keeping Tom than to dwell on Lady Margot's "off-color" comments.

"I'll return soon," he assured, and not wanting to cause Anthony further agony, he mumbled, "thank you for the breakfast, Lady Margot," though he had been unable to truly partake and enjoy it.

He left shortly thereafter, and Anthony waited until he heard the door close, before looking up and directing one of the footman who was standing off to the side, to please give himself and Lady Margot "a moment". She frowned at this, and set her now empty teacup aside. "Was that truly necessary?"

"Was it necessary for you to insult our guest!?" he hissed back, assured that the door to the breakfast room was now shut.

"Insult?" Margot looked perplexed. "How have I insulted Mr. Crawley? You were the one who kept interrupting our conversation—"

"Oh don't play the innocent, Margot," Anthony groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "All those questions about 'where he went to school', your comment about Manchester, followed by your question about what he and Lady Mary have in common."

Margot's eyebrows lifted at this. "Well, they are perfectly legitimate questions, dear brother. I mean the boy must have…_something_…to his background to have won Lady Mary's favor."

"Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps all that matters between both Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley—between all of us, really, is what we _feel_ for one another?"

Margot started to laugh then, which did nothing to calm Anthony's growing frustrations and anxieties.

"Oh Anthony," she sighed, shaking her head at him in one of her infamous condescending manners. "I might expect such talk from someone like Mr. Crawley—he is young, after all. But not from you; you're old enough to know better."

Anthony's eyes widened. "What is that supposed to mean!?" he sputtered.

Margot dabbed at her lips with her napkin and placed it upon her empty plate. "Simply that you understand how the world works, or perhaps I should clarify and say, that you understand how _our_ world works. Marriage isn't about 'feelings' or 'sentimentality', despite what those ghastly greeting cards and frivolous novels will have you think. It's about connections, and suitability. Like breeding horses or dogs; you want the finest qualities and traits that can be found in order to make the best breed, or in this case, match." She rose from the table then, and added before turning to leave, "This, naturally, rather perfectly explains your union."

Anthony stared at his sister as she began to walk away, still trying to take in everything she had said. "What…what do you mean?" he asked, following her out of the room. "What do you mean this 'naturally' explains my union?"

Margot sighed and turned to face her brother. "Didn't you listen to a word that I said? I mean it's obvious, Anthony, the whole world can see it, I'm rather amazed that you can't."

His frown deepened and that terrible sinking feeling that he had been fighting since the previous evening doubled in strength.

"This union between yourself and Lady Edith rather benefits you both, though I would say she's getting more out of it than you," Margot sighed with some annoyance. "Though she is an Earl's daughter, that says something for her, I suppose."

Anthony gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. "I happen to _love_ Edith, Margot," he growled. "I both love _and_ respect her very much!"

The look that his sister gave him wasn't the one he was expecting. In fact, it rather surprised him, because her eyes were suddenly filled with what looked very much like…pity.

"Anthony…you're fifty-four years old. You're twice her age! I'm not saying that it isn't possible for an…'attachment' of sorts…to develop between two such people, but…honestly, be realistic. This is a good match for her, as you're a mature man of means who isn't bothered by the fact that she's not a great beauty. And her youth will make you feel 'useful' once again, not to mention that a marriage to her will open you to a great many connections you hadn't had before, thanks to her father and grandmother. As I said, despite the difference in your ages, it's a good match! So why must we make excuses to pretend it's anything more than what it is?"

And with that, she gave a simple shrug of her shoulders and left him standing there, mouth agape, too stunned to even utter a sound.

* * *

Someone was shaking him.

_ "Tom…Tom…"_

Everything was hazy. He couldn't see anything…and the bed, the mattress…when did it become so hard?

_"Tom…Tom…"_

Someone was calling him…and the voice was close. But he didn't recognize the voice. Who was this person? And what were they doing in his room?

Something was digging into his back. He gritted his teeth and tried to shift his body, hoping to relieve it from the unusually hard mattress—

A jolt of pain shot up his leg and caused his eyes to fly open, which he quickly squeezed shut due to the blinding sunlight that greeted him.

He wasn't in his room. He wasn't even on his bed. He was…on the ground. He was outside, lying on the ground; why? What happened? How did he get here?

_"Tom…Tom…_TOM!"

The voice that had been calling him became clearer, and he realized that the same person was also gripping him by the shoulders and shaking him, trying to be gentle, but also urgent.

"Tom! Tom, wake up, open your eyes, come on…"

He groaned and shifted his body a second time, hissing at the pain he felt. Oh God, his right leg…he couldn't move it!

"Tom…Tom, look at me, come on mate."

_ Mate?_ Who was this bloke?

"Tom, it's me, Henry; we met last night, remember?"

Henry…he didn't know anyone named "Henry"…did he? But the haze engulfing his brain began to lift, and slowly, painstakingly, memories began to resurface.

Henry…he had met a Henry, last night, in the pub. Some…friend of the Crawley family. Used to date Mary, apparently.

"Tom, do you know where you are?" Henry was asking him, and he was glad that the man was leaning over him to block out the brightness of the sun. He blinked as he stared up at Henry, opening his mouth to answer, but gasped as another jolt of pain shot through his body.

Instead of answering Henry's question, he simply hissed, "my leg!"

Henry turned his head towards Tom's legs and made a noise that didn't fill Tom with any sense of reassurance. This was confirmed by Henry turning back to him and announcing, "we need to get you to a hospital."

"No…" Tom protested, though it was a weak protest. "Wedding…have to…have to get…" he tried to move, to sit up or even to roll his body over so he could get on his hands and knees, but whenever he attempted to move, he felt more and more pain, especially in his right leg.

"You're in fit state to go anywhere but the hospital," Henry firmly explained. "I'm sorry to say this, but I think you're leg is broken—it…it looks pretty bad."

Pretty bad? How bad could it be if one would describe it as "pretty"? Despite what Henry said, he tried to sit up again, which resulted in a string of curse words filling the air. No, no, this couldn't be happening to him…

"Sybil…" he groaned, despite the pain. "I…I need to…to talk to Sybil…"

"You need to see a doctor, right now!"

"Sybil—"

"I know she's a doctor, mate, but she can't help you right now," Henry muttered, and Tom gasped in pain as Henry hoisted him up to a sitting position. "Sorry," he apologized, though his voice didn't hold a great deal of sincerity.

"FUCK!" Tom swore as Henry moved behind him, and with his hands under Tom's arms, tried his best to get Tom up onto his feet.

"My car is just over there," Henry told Tom through gritted teeth, trying as best he could to take the bulk of Tom's weight. Tom felt tears sting the corners of his eyes in reaction to the pain, but he hissed in a deep breath and tried his best to focus on what Henry was telling him, about getting to the car. The sooner he got there, the sooner he could get off his leg!

"Come on!" Henry encouraged, bearing the brunt of Tom's weight as he helped the Irishman hobble in the direction where his car was parked. Tom wanted to argue further that he needed to contact Sybil, but the effort to talk was outweighed by the effort to move, and any words that came out of his mouth at this point would just be a string of curses as the pain shot up his leg and throughout his body. So instead he hissed, grunted, groaned, and growled until at last, he was able to flop down into the passenger seat of Henry Talbot's car.

"Fecking hell," Tom groaned, wincing as another wave of pain rolled through him.

"I know it hurts, mate, I'm sorry," Henry murmured, helping Tom get his injured leg into the car.

Did he really understand what Tom was feeling? He doubted it, and for some reason, he didn't care for the way the man kept calling him "mate". "Just…" he bit back a groan as his leg was maneuvered. "Just…get me to the house."

Henry paused and looked up at him. "Tom, you need to go to a hospital—there's nothing Sybil can do for you, I truly do believe your leg is broken and…I'm no expert, but I do believe it's been broken in multiple areas."

Tom opened his mouth to argue further, but Henry shut the door on him, before hurrying around to the other side of the car and getting into the driver's seat. "I don't mean to insult Sybil's medical expertise," Henry clarified as he started the car. "I'm sure she's a brilliant physician, but I have a feeling she would agree with me on this, that you need a hospital."

Tom hated to admit it, but he knew Henry was right. If Sybil were there, she'd have probably taken the keys right out of Henry's hand and driven at speeds that would put a Formula One driver to shame.

"I'll take you to the hospital in Ripon," Henry told him, pulling out onto the main motorway that would lead them away from the village.

"Ripon?" Tom groaned, trying to sit up from his slouching position in Henry's car. "No, there's a hospital here in Downton…just…" he winced momentarily. "Just…just down that road—"

"Everyone's getting ready for the wedding," Henry interrupted. "The staff there is probably a skeleton crew at best, and…well…I would think you'd want to avoid being seen by any of the press?"

He hadn't thought about that. Tom paled at the thought of all those tabloid journalists, waiting to snap a picture at anything related to the wedding. Oh God, he hoped none of them had seen him make a right arse of himself when he was climbing out his window.

"What happened?" he heard Henry ask.

Tom felt his face burn at the memory.

"I had stepped out to get a cup of coffee from this café just down the street, came back to change clothes for the ceremony, and…I mean, I'm not going to lie Tom, I thought for a minute you were dead! You weren't moving, you were just…lying there in a crumpled heap!"

Tom groaned, his face burning even hotter with embarrassment.

"I mean, you weren't…attacked, or anything, were you?"

He sighed and shook his head. "No, I…" he closed his eyes and let out a weary sigh. "I was…I was trying to climb down," he mumbled.

Henry frowned and glanced over at him. "Climb…down?"

"Aye," Tom muttered.

Henry's frown only deepened. "As in…climb down from…your window?"

Tom simply grunted in reply.

There was a pause then, as if Henry were assessing what Tom had revealed. Then, "Sorry, but…WHY were you doing that?"

Tom swore under his breath. "My door was jammed," he explained. "It wouldn't open, as if…as if something were keeping it from opening." Despite the fall he had suffered, his memory about what led him to climb out the window was slowly coming back. He had tried to pull open the door, but as he had told Henry, something was preventing him from doing so. He kept pulling until the bloody handle broke off, and without any help from someone on the other side, he was trapped.

"Did you call for help?" Henry asked, to which Tom gritted his teeth in an effort not to bite the man's head off. Henry must have sensed this, because he glanced at Tom and then quickly murmured, "Sorry, stupid question."

Tom sighed and winced as another wave of pain rolled through him. "No one came," he muttered. "I pounded on that door, shouted, but no one answered. And I couldn't ring for help either," he added, cutting off Henry's question before the other man could ask it. "My phone was dead."

Henry frowned. "Did you forget your charger?"

"No," Tom growled. "I couldn't call because…" his voice faded as he remembered the strange discovery.

_No battery._

"Because…?"

"No battery," Tom whispered, more to himself than to Henry, but the other man had heard him and repeated what he had said.

"No battery?" Henry looked confused. "How did you lose your battery?"

_I don't know,_ Tom thought. Mobiles didn't just lose their batteries by accident, not unless a person opened their phone up, and Tom couldn't recall the last time he had done so. So how did it happen? Or perhaps more importantly, WHEN did it happen? He hadn't used his phone since before the dinner at Downton, and it had been working perfectly fine then. He had muted his phone, put it in his jacket pocket, and hadn't touched it since, not even after he and Matthew and Sir Anthony had left the house. So when and how did this happen?

"We're almost there," Henry told him, passing a sign on the motorway indicating the distance left to reach Ripon.

Tom gritted his teeth through the pain and tried to sit up a little straighter. "Look, can I borrow yours?"

Henry frowned. "My…?"

"Your mobile," Tom clarified, though he thought it had been obvious. "I need to call Sybil, and Matthew; need to let them know what's going on."

Henry bit his lip and a sheepish expression fell across his face. "Um…well, to be honest—"

"You don't have your mobile," Tom groaned, sensing the answer before Henry had finished his sentence.

"Sorry, mate," Henry apologized. "Just…well, ironically, my battery was almost dead, so I left my phone charging when I stepped out, and seeing you, I just…I didn't even think about running back inside to get it—"

"Never mind," Tom muttered, turning his face away from Henry and looking out the window at the passing Yorkshire countryside.

"I'm sure once we get to the hospital we can find you a phone…or better yet!" Henry offered in a tone that was far too chipper to how Tom was feeling. "I can go and deliver the news to the family."

Tom frowned and looked back at Henry in confusion. "What?"

"After I get you to the hospital, I can hurry back to Downton, and let the Crawleys know what's happening. Is Matthew at Downton as well? I can tell him too, if you'd like."

Tom's head was reeling; Henry was speaking so fast he was struggling with keeping up.

"No, Matthew's not…hang on," he shifted in his seat, hissing through the pain as he did so. "You're saying you would go to Downton Abbey, find Sybil, and tell her that I'm in the hospital?"

Henry nodded his head. "I think it would be better, hearing it from someone they know," he explained.

Someone they know? While Henry had told both Matthew and himself that he "knew the Crawleys" and had at one point dated Mary, Tom had never gotten the impression that Henry was particularly…close…to the Crawley family. Yet based on the way he was speaking, one would think he was some sort of long-lost relative.

"Actually," Henry continued. "I mean, I know this might sound somewhat 'paranoid', but…what if they found a way to tap into your phones?"

Tom looked back at Henry in utter confusion. "Who…?"

"The press!" Henry explained. "I mean, they've done it before in hopes of being the first to get a story. What if they found a way to tap into Downton's phone lines? Or cross the signal of any of your mobiles?"

Henry was wrong, that didn't sound "somewhat" paranoid, that sounded COMPLETELY paranoid, not to mention completely illegal.

"I'm a journalist too, Henry," he muttered. "And we know the legalities of what we can and can't do—"

"These are _tabloids_, Tom, not 'legitimate' newspapers like the one you write for," Henry argued. "You know the lengths the paparazzi go to when it comes to stalking celebrities, what makes you think they wouldn't pull that with hoping to get some sort of 'inside scoop' on what the papers have been calling 'the wedding of century' for the past few weeks!?"

He didn't agree with him, not at all…but the man was making a compelling argument.

"Trust me, it's better this way," Henry assured. "Oh look! Hospital, that way!"

Tom let the subject drop, reminding himself that Henry was just trying to help and as strange as he found the man to be, at the same time, he did owe him for the help he was providing. "Thank you," he murmured then, ashamed that he hadn't spoken the words sooner.

Henry glanced over at him and a slow, odd-looking smile spread across his face. "My pleasure," he answered.

* * *

The local police had already begun to barricade several roads in and out of the village, and there were news vans set up every few kilometers. Matthew kept his head low whenever he passed one, hoping no photographer would notice him and try to take his picture. That's all he needed, someone tweeting his image across the internet with a hashtag #runaway groom.

Thankfully, Matthew knew the village well enough to know which roads would still be open, and which ones could get him back to the Grantham Arms with little detection. He parked the car a good several yards away from the inn, and moved quietly and quickly towards the building, aware that the streets were filling a little more here and there than when he had gone on his morning run.

He did recall the innkeeper telling him that he would be closing the place due to the wedding, and sure enough, there was a sign right there on the door announcing that the Grantham Arms would be open again for business later that evening. But the innkeeper had also given him an extra key, in case he needed to get back to his room for any reason. With a quick glance up and down the street, Matthew unlocked the door and slipped inside.

It was eerily quiet. "Hello?" he called out, but no one answered. He supposed it wasn't so unusual, that the staff would be gone if the inn was closed, but at the same time, why hadn't anyone bothered to check Tom's room? "Tom?" he called out as he began to climb the stairs. Why wasn't he answering? "TOM!" he called again. There was no excuse for Tom not to answer; the walls of the Grantham Arms were paper thin—

Matthew steps came to a stop as Tom's door came into view.

The doorknob to his room was…bound. Bound by…bungee cords?

Matthew quickened his steps and was at Tom's door in an instant, staring at the mess in front of him. Bungee cords were wrapped around the doorknob at one end, and fastened to metal radiator against the wall just to the right of the door. "Tom!" Matthew shouted, but there was no answer. Who…? How had this happened? And WHY? "TOM!" he called again. Why wasn't he answering? "TOM!" Matthew pounded on the door, but still nothing.

This had to be the reason for why Tom hadn't come to Locksley. Someone had purposefully tried to keep him from leaving his room! Matthew tugged on the doorknob, but it wouldn't budge. He then remembered that the doors opened from the inside…which meant that Tom wouldn't have been able to open his door at all, thanks to the bungee cords which were tied very tightly to both the outer doorknob, as well as the radiator.

"TOM!" Matthew shouted. "Tom, it's me! Can you hear me!?"

Still nothing.

Something wasn't right. There was no excuse for why Tom couldn't hear him. And then he recalled all the texts and calls he had left, and how Tom hadn't responded to any of them.

_Call the police,_ a voice in his head urged. But they were busy managing the excess traffic brought on by the wedding. And the second a police car showed up, so too, no doubt, would be curious, snap-happy paparazzi.

_Break the door down!_ Matthew winced, thinking of the possible lawsuit the innkeeper might throw at him for damages, but he needed to get into that room! So he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, prepared himself to charge—

"What, what am I doing?"

Matthew shook his head and ran back down the stairs, going into the inn's kitchens and then coming back a minute later, brandishing a sharp knife. _Thinking like a lawyer…_

He got to work right away, using the knife to cut through the bungee cords. It wasn't easy, and before he was finished, he had sweat dripping down the back of his neck, and several cuts on his fingers in the process. But at last, the cords fell away…and the doorknob fell with them to the floor with a loud clunk.

He stared at the doorknob, and then at the door which was slowly easing open.

Matthew pushed the door hard and entered the room, his eyes wild as he looked for any traces of his friend…

Nothing.

Well, not entirely nothing. Tom's clothes were still there, as was his rucksack. And his mobile too…which, for some reason, didn't have a battery?

But…where was Tom? Matthew instinctively opened his mouth to call out for his friend, but stopped short when a breeze struck him in the face. "Oh God…" he rushed to the open window, gripped the sill and looked down…

Nothing.

Nothing…except the imprint of where a body had been, on the dirt below.

* * *

_AHHHHHHH! :oP_


	10. Pre-Wedding Jitters

_HAPPY (belated) STEAMM DAY 2016! Better late than never :oP This chapter took a long time to write, but it was fun as it was an opportunity to get into the heads of characters whose POV's I don't normally write. I hope I did a decent job, as well as succeeded at providing some comic moments in and among the various angsty dramatic moments :oP I am going to try and write some more of this story over the next few weeks, so stay tuned! If you didn't see a certain character you were hoping to see, just hang in there, MORE IS ON THE WAY! And thank you again, always, for your continued support of this story! HAPPY STEAMMy READING!_

* * *

_Chapter Nine_  
"Pre-Wedding Jitters"

_"…Photographers and journalists have been camped outside the grand Yorkshire estate for days, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Crawley brides, or at the very least get an idea of what to expect this afternoon. Security has tightened as the day has drawn closer, and delivery trucks have to go through several key 'checkpoints' before being allowed admittance to—"_

"Turn that off, will ya?" Tom groaned from where he sat, on one of those strange, reclining bed-chair things only found in hospitals.

Henry Talbot had charmed one of the nurses to give him a remote to operate the tiny television that hung from the ceiling in one of the room's corners. But at hearing Tom's frustrated voice, quickly did as the Irishman requested. "Sorry," he apologized, offering a bit of a sheepish smile. "Just…curious to know how things are going…"

Tom simply grunted. He could answer that question easily; things were going bad. _VERY_ bad.

"I need a phone," he muttered, not for the first time since they arrived. He had hoped that once they got inside, he could borrow one, but Henry had pulled up to the emergency room doors, leaned out and shouted that the passenger in his car had a serious injury, and the next thing Tom knew, two men in blue scrubs were rushing forward, bearing a stretcher. It wasn't anywhere near as serious as Henry and these medics were thinking, but nonetheless, Tom found himself being practically lifted out of the car, and put on the stretcher, and shuffled inside, where he was taken to the room where he presently resided, while Henry dealt with the nurse at the emergency desk, explaining Tom's situation.

"You got her to give you a remote, don't know why you couldn't have tried to get her to give you a phone," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"I tried, but she told me that mobiles aren't allowed in the emergency room, hospital rules," Henry answered apologetically, while trying to offer what Tom supposed was meant to be a sympathetic smile. In truth, it just made him want to punch the bloke.

That was absolute bollocks, people used mobiles all the time at the hospital, he had seen it firsthand whenever he went to pick Sybil up before meeting up with their friends at The Golden Unicorn! He wanted to speak with this nurse himself, but before he could open his mouth and demand that Henry fetch her, the door to the little room where he lay opened, and the doctor who had examined him when he first arrived, entered again, this time holding a large envelope.

"I have your x-rays, Mr. Branson," the doctor announced, shutting the door behind him. "I'm afraid that you _did_ break your leg, and I'm sorry to tell you that it's broken in two places."

Fan-fecking-tastic. A broken leg…and not just one clean break, but multiple bones, broken.

"See, if you look here—" the doctor had taken a seat beside Tom, and was holding up the x-rays for him to look at, but Tom didn't care about any of that. Today was his fecking wedding day! He was supposed to be over at Sir Anthony's getting ready for the ceremony! Not stuck in some unfamiliar hospital with a man who he had only just met the night before, as his closest "contact".

"Alright, alright, so…so what happens next?" Tom interrupted, gritting his teeth through the pain as he tried to sit up.

The doctor blinked, surprised by Tom's directness, or perhaps by Tom's urgent tone. "Well, we need to set the bones, make a cast—"

"Alright, then let's do that," he muttered, gasping as a wave of pain shot up his leg, but once again gritting his teeth to get through it. "Come on, I'm ready, get the people in here to do that!"

The doctor glanced at Henry, which really annoyed Tom. Why the hell was he looking at Henry? HE was the patient! And why hadn't he summoned whatever staff was required for getting a cast on him yet!?

"Mr. Branson…" the doctor turned back to Tom, his annoyance only growing more at the man's tone of voice, which had now adopted a "softer" and somewhat "patronizing" tone, as if he were a child who didn't know the difference between up and down. "…These things take time."

"Aye, I'm aware," Tom growled. "So let's not waste anymore and get on with it!" He did his best to not show the pain he was feeling, but he was failing miserably.

The doctor sighed and shook his head while rising from his chair. "Mr. Branson, it's not as easy you think; it's not like putting a bandage on a cut."

Oh, now he was being condescended to. He could feel the rage starting to boil over, and who knows what he would have said—or done, had Henry decided not to step in and speak on his behalf in that moment.

"Doctor, my friend is desperate to leave—he…" he glanced at Tom, as if trying to decide how much to reveal. "…He has a _very_ important engagement that he must make—"

"I'm getting married!" Tom interrupted, not caring any longer about keeping a low profile from the press. He needed to get out of there and back to Downton!

The doctor's eyebrows lifted at this, but he didn't show any signs of new understanding, like dropping everything and hitting some call button on the wall, demanding that a team of people come straight to Tom's room to put a cast on his leg right away.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Branson," the doctor began…and then seeming to realize how that sounded, quickly amended, "I'm sorry to hear that you broke your leg today," and then frowned, before adding again, "not that there is any good day to break one's leg—"

"So you understand why I need this cast put on me straight away, right?" Tom groaned, trying his hardest to not lose his temper (which he was clearly failing).

The doctor sighed once again. "Mr. Branson—"

"I'M NOT STAYING HERE!" Tom roared, and despite the pain that was shooting up his leg, he unwisely swung it over the edge of his little exam bed, as if he were going to simply hobble right out of that room. But the second his foot took on the slightest bit of weight, he gasped and nearly collapsed onto the ground from the pain, and most likely would have, had not both the doctor and Henry leapt forward to catch him.

"Mr. Branson…" the doctor groaned, while trying to get Tom back onto the exam table. "You are in no condition to go anywhere!"

"Listen to him, Tom," Henry urged. "You're no good to anybody as you are!"

Tom grimaced at Henry's words: _"no good to anybody"—_anybody meaning Sybil. He wanted to fight, he wanted to argue, he wanted, more than anything, to be able to stand normally so he could walk out of there and go directly to his waiting bride.

…But he couldn't. Not without the aid of another person or a pair of crutches. God, he hated this; hated feeling so helpless!

"Tom, Tom, listen to me…" he heard Henry calling to him. He turned to the dark-haired man who he had only met last night, and despite the rage that was flowing through him, looked back at Henry with pained, desperate eyes, silently pleading for some kind of help. _I'm supposed to get married today! I don't want to miss my own wedding, help me, please!_

"Tom…" Henry hissed in his ear. Tom sighed and gave Henry his full attention. "Let the doctors do their job; _I'll _go and tell Sybil for you."

Tom's brow furrowed. "W-what?"

Henry nodded his head, as if confirming a question. "I'll go straight to Downton; I'll find Sybil, tell her what's happened."

Tom frowned and gripped Henry's arm, preventing the dark-haired man from walking away. "N-no," he shook his head. "No, she'll…she'll just worry, I don't want her to worry—"

"I'll make sure that she doesn't," Henry assured, but how he could promise something like that…let alone how he could "make sure" someone didn't worry, was beyond him.

Tom still shook his head. "I should call her…and Matthew. I need to—"

"Tom, there isn't time!" Henry hissed. "Don't you see? This wedding is scheduled to take place in…" he looked at his watch. "In four hours. I don't know how long it will take for them to set and cast your leg, but I imagine the sooner they start, the better!"

Which was exactly what he had been trying to implore the doctor to do! But he hadn't…he wasn't…

Tom groaned, his head bowing as a wave of nausea washed over him. He was also feeling rather light-headed…

"I think you're going to need something for the pain, Mr. Branson," the doctor observed. "And getting yourself over-excited isn't helping."

Tom growled and narrowed his eyes at the doctor, but Henry was gently pushing him back onto the exam table. "Tom," he whispered. "Let me do this for you. I can make sure they delay things so you can still make it!"

Delay things…there was still a chance he and Sybil could be married…so long as he cooperated…

Really, what choice did he have?

"Alright," Tom sighed, hating his choice, but seeing no other option.

Henry's eyebrows lifted as if in surprise. As if he never thought Tom would go along with his suggestion. "Alright?" he repeated.

"Aye," Tom muttered, wincing at the pain and at the way his head seemed to be throbbing. "Go, tell her—but also," he reached out and gripped Henry's shoulder. "Tell her that…that I'm sorry, and that I love her, and that more than anything, I want to be her husband…please?"

Henry gazed back at him in such a way that Tom found rather strange, as if he were contemplating everything he had said. Or maybe he was just confused by the pain?

"I will," Henry answered, before giving him an assuring smile that didn't quite put Tom at ease, but he was distracted from saying anything more by the unexpected prick of a needle in his arm.

"We'll see to him," the doctor promised Henry, who nodded his head and smiled, before turning back to Tom one last time.

"And I'll see to Sybil," he promised, reaching out and giving Tom's shoulder a squeeze, before turning and walking away, leaving Tom alone with the doctor…and a strange feeling of unease.

* * *

Robert Crawley sighed as looked down at the headlines on the newspaper before him. "You would think that the _Financial Times_ would be a 'safe bet' in terms of finding something that nothing to do with the wedding…but we're not even spared from that!" he grumbled to Carson as he closed the newspaper at the breakfast table.

"I would recommend, milord, that you avoid the various television news outlets as well," Carson advised in his typical drone. Robert simply groaned and turned his head towards one of the windows, thankful again that they had tightened security before the coming weekend, otherwise every glass surface would be swapped with photographers.

"I must confess, Carson, I'll be glad when this day is over—not that I'm not happy for my daughters, but…I just don't understand why the media makes such a fuss over a wedding."

Carson agreed with his employer whole-heartedly. "Mrs. Hughes believes it is because the ceremony features three couples that has everyone 'in a titter'—her words, not mine, milord," Carson clarified. "She can't recall the last time such an event took place."

Robert sighed and nodded his head. "Nor I…but you would think it was one of the bloody royals getting married—I beg your pardon, Carson," he added, knowing how the butler revered Her Majesty and any member of the royal family.

"Can you believe this crowd!?" exclaimed a voice from overhead. Both Robert and Carson turned to see Martha Levinson practically float into the room, like Norma Desmond ready to ask Cecil B. DeMille if he were ready for her close-up. She moved past her son-in-law and the family butler to one of the windows, pulling the curtains back and squinting as she looked off into the distance. "You can hardly tell from down here, but upstairs, in one of the hall windows? You can see news vans parked for miles." She released the curtains and shook her head. "You would think one of the Kardashians was getting married."

Carson seemed to bristle at the American woman's words, and muttered a quick, "excuse me, milord," before leaving the room, no doubt to fume in silence.

Martha didn't seem to notice, and immediately went to the buffet table to start piling on a plate. "I thought you would be upstairs with Cora and the girls?" Robert remarked, eyeing his mother-in-law and taking notice that she was still in her peach-silk pajamas with matching slippers and a floral-patterned kimono. After thirty-some years of marriage, he felt he was finally beginning to grasp his mother-in-law's idiosyncrasies.

"Too many chickens in the hen house," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Robert raised an eyebrow at his mother-in-law's explanation. Oddly enough, he understood her meaning. "Besides," she turned away from the buffet and made her way over to the table. "Things were getting a bit too emotional in there," she started to chuckle then. "And that says something, coming from the 'brash American' who lacks what your people endearingly call a 'stiff-upper-lip'."

Robert suppressed a roll of his eyes and instead focused on what Martha had just revealed. "Too emotional?" he repeated. "Is everything alright?"

Martha gave a nonchalant shrug. "Typical 'pre-wedding jitters'," she explained while liberally pouring salt over her eggs. She did, however, pause for a moment and lifted her head, her brow furrowed as one who is deep in thought and trying to recall something. "I honestly can't recall the last time I've seen Mary like that."

Now it was Robert's turn to frown. "Like what?"

Martha resumed her salt pouring. "Weeping like that."

Both of Robert's eyebrows rose at this news. "Mary was _weeping?"_

"Well, not when we entered the room, but it was clear she had been," Martha explained, setting the salt shaker aside and digging her fork into the eggs. "Her cheeks and the skin around her eyes were all pink and puffy—and I don't think it had anything to do with allergies," she took a bite of eggs and made a face. "Where's Carson? These need Tabasco Sauce."

Robert ignored her request. "Mary hardly ever cries…" he murmured. "She hasn't cried since she was a little girl…and even then it was no more than a few random tears…"

He was about to ask Martha for more information, but was stopped by the entrance of his own mother, whose head was covered in rollers. "Where is Carson? The Crawley tiara _isn't _upstairs in the dressing room where it's supposed to be, and Mary is going to need it when Pierre finishes with her hair!"

Robert stared at his mother with his mouth hanging open, but before another sound could be uttered, like magic, Carson seemed to magically appear. "Yes, your Ladyship?" he asked, addressing Violet with his full attention.

"These eggs need Tabasco!" Martha piped up from where she sat.

Carson frowned. "Tabasco?"

"Oh never mind her!" Violet groaned, regaining Carson's attention once more. "The Crawley tiara, Carson—where is it? Does Mrs. Hughes have it? It should be upstairs in the dressing room!"

"I do beg your pardon, your Ladyship, you're absolutely right, of course—I take full responsibility for this mishap—"

"Yes, yes, thank you, now the tiara, if you please?"

The butler looked rather taken aback by the dowager countess' cut, but he did not question or bring further attention to the situation, simply bowed his head, and left the breakfast room at once to retrieve the item in question.

"And don't forget my Tabasco Sauce!" Martha called after him. Violet simply rolled her eyes. However, before she could make her escape, Martha piped up again, this time to her son-in-law, saying, "Why don't you ask her?"

Violet stopped and looked at Martha in confusion and annoyance. "Ask me what?"

Martha kept her eyes on Robert. "About Mary crying—she was with her in the room when it happened."

Violet's eyes widened and Robert turned to his mother in surprise, as well as confused concern. "Why was Mary crying? Is she alright? Does she—?"

He had been starting to rise from the table, but Violet raised her hand to stop him. "She's _fine_—as I told Cora's mother," she explained through gritted teeth, her eyes fixed on Martha in such a way, that the devil himself would turn tail and run.

Robert, however, was not quite convinced. "But she _was_ crying?" he asked, still confused by the whole thing.

"Just a few tears, nothing to worry about," Violet mumbled, waving her hand dismissively, however it wasn't missed by Robert that his mother didn't look at him. "I think we're all just feeling a little stress because of the day."

"Hmm, that's true; apparently Edith is under the weather," Martha volunteered from her place at the table.

Robert and Violet turned to look at her. "Edith is ill?" Robert asked, turning to his mother as if expecting she would have an explanation, when in truth she looked every bit as dumbfounded as her son.

"Some kind of stomach bug, apparently," Martha continued between chews. "Nerves, I say."

Violet straightened her shoulders and then forced a smile across her face before turning back to Robert. "Indeed, quite so."

Robert didn't look convinced. "Mary's crying, Edith is ill—anything about Sybil I should know?" He frowned then and began to shake his head. "Actually, never mind, the less said, the better it seems."

"Indeed," Violet muttered under her breath, her eyes once again fixed on the woman she thought of as her nemesis.

Mrs. Hughes entered the room then, holding a delicate looking package covered in a fine, maroon velvet cloth. "Mr. Carson informed me that you were looking for this, your Ladyship," Mrs. Hughes announced. "I do beg your pardon, your Ladyship, we thought it best with so many reporters roaming around to keep everything of value under lock and key—"

"Yes, yes, quite understandable, thank you," Violet took the velvet-covered package from Mrs. Hughes' hands and inspected its contents. A look of relief seemed to wash over her, however she quickly put on another unemotional façade for all the world to see, and handed the item back to the housekeeper. "Please see that this is delivered at once to Lady Mary in the bridal dressing room."

"Of course, your Ladyship," Mrs. Hughes answered, giving a tiny curtsy to the dowager countess before taking her leave.

Martha watched Violet for a moment, her eyes narrowed. "What about Edith and Sybil?"

Violet frowned, the momentary peace shattering at the sound of Martha's question. "I beg your pardon?"

Martha smirked at that. "We both know that's a lie—you 'begging' anyone of anything, least of all _my_ pardon, but that's beside the point," she waved her hand dismissively. "I'm assuming Mary is the lucky girl to get to wear the 'Crawley family tiara', because she's the eldest, but what about Edith and Sybil? What will they be wearing?"

Violet's frown only deepened, knowing that the other woman was purposefully badgering her. "For your information, Sybil announced that she doesn't want to wear anything in her hair—veil or tiara." It was clear Violet didn't approve, but she had learned long ago about choosing which battles to pick with her youngest granddaughter.

"And Edith?" Martha pressed. "Did you ask her whether she cared that her older sister was wearing the family tiara?"

Violet's lips thinned and she abruptly turned her head to her son. "Robert!" she practically barked.

Robert had been trying to resume reading his morning paper but was startled by his mother's outburst. "What!?" he gasped, before quickly clearing his throat and lowering his head in an apologetic manner towards his mother. "What's the matter?"

"Kindly explain to Cora's mother that it is a long-standing tradition that the eldest Crawley daughter wears the family tiara, and that it is _NOT_ a slight against Edith, which she is clearly trying to imply!"

Martha's smirk only broadened. "I wasn't implying anything…however, if it vexes you that much—"

_"You_ are what vexes me—"

"Mrs. Crawley, milord!" Carson announced.

"Oh thank God," Robert groaned, quickly rising to his feet and going to greet Isobel, happy to get away from the two bickering women. "Isobel, so wonderful to see you! We missed you last night at the rehearsal dinner."

Isobel smiled and leaned up and kissed Robert's cheek in greeting. "Thank you, I'm sorry to have missed last night as well! But I simply couldn't get away—not that I need to explain the many responsibilities running a charitable organization takes," she chuckled before turning to greet Violet. "I only wish we had half the resources The Grantham Foundation had!"

Violet forced a smile as she leaned in and kissed Isobel's cheek in greeting. "Yes, well, you are here now and that's all that matters—have you met Cora's mother, Martha Levinson?" Violet practically pushed Isobel towards the offending American, glad to let someone else deal with the irritating woman.

"Pleased to meet you," Martha said with a smile. "I've heard a great deal through my daughter, and anyone who keeps Violet Crawley on their toes is a friend of mine."

Violet groaned, immediately regretting the decision of introducing the two women and letting them talk.

"Have you seen Matthew yet?" Robert asked, to which Isobel shook her head.

"No, I thought it best to wait along with the bride; I have a feeling that the second I see him, I'll burst into tears and won't be able to stop!" she confessed, chuckling in spite of herself.

"Well, Cora and the girls are upstairs getting ready if you'd like to join them," Robert explained. "Although you're welcome to stay here and have some breakfast if you wish."

"Thank you, but I think I will go upstairs; I'm eager to see all of them, especially Mary."

"I think that's a splendid idea!" Martha announced, rising from her chair. "Perhaps you can find out what's troubling her."

Isobel paused and looked back at Martha. "Troubling her?"

Violet groaned and shot Martha an icy glare, before turning to Isobel and offering what was meant to be a reassuring smile. "It's nothing, ignore her."

"I'd hardly call sobbing one's eyes out 'nothing'," Martha muttered.

"Sobbing?" Isobel asked.

"She's just feeling the stress of the day, that's all!" Violet announced, glaring back at Martha. "Now, tell me all about what's happening with that little organization of yours," she prodded Isobel, steering her away from Martha and whatever mischief the horrible woman was trying to create.

Martha watched as the pair left the room, a proud smile spreading across her face before turning back and looking at a somewhat dumbfounded Robert. "I have never met a more worthy adversary in my life than your mother," she told him. But then her smile faded, and with a sigh, she reached out and patted Robert's arm, before saying, "in all seriousness, do keep your eyes out for the girls; I'm hoping your mother is right and it is just 'pre-wedding nerves'." Robert wasn't quite sure how to respond, so he simply nodded his head. "Good," Martha squeezed Robert's shoulder, smiling once again, before giving a resolute sigh and turning towards the door that led off to the Downton kitchens. "Now, I should see what's keeping Carson from bringing me that Tabasco Sauce…"

Robert watched as his mother-in-law disappeared through the door, and sagged back down into his chair, completely at a loss for words and thought. Perhaps if Cora were here, he could try to make some sense of everything that had just transpired?

The sound of the doorbell echoed the hall just beyond the breakfast room and Robert frowned, wondering who on earth would be arriving at the front door? "Carson?" he called out, but there was no answer. The doorbell rang again. Robert rose from the table and went into the hall, his eyes searching for the butler, but there was no sign of him, not even of Mrs. Hughes. Perhaps they were tied up with various delivery men downstairs?

Upon the third ring, Robert groaned and simply went to the door to open it himself. "Yes?" he asked in a rather annoyed tone.

It wasn't one person who was standing outside the front door of Downton, but two. Both of them seemed to be engaged in a conversation, and both of them ceased their talk and turned to look at Robert, surprised at the sight of Lord Grantham answering his own door.

"Well, I must say, this is rather unexpected," one of the visitors declared.

Robert stared back at them, confused in part to why they were there, as well as because…he didn't recognize one of them.

"Lord Grantham," the second visitor greeted. "It's wonderful to see you again after all this time…" The stranger must have recognized Robert's confusion, because he chuckled, before murmuring, "You probably don't remember me, but I think you will once I explain…"

* * *

"Ah, so good of you to grace us with your presence," Mary murmured to her sister who had just entered the room. "I thought for a minute we would have to send out a search party…"

Edith rolled her eyes, but then plastered on an over-the-top smile which she flashed just for Mary. "Yes, well, I do apologize for my tardiness—after all, one mustn't forget that the point of today is keeping to Mary's schedule."

Mary's eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth to utter a retort, but Cora purposefully stepped in between her two daughters. "That's quite enough from the both of you," she warned, giving them each a pointed look. "Honestly, you're both far too old for this sibling rivalry."

"Here, here!" Sybil piped up from the make-up chair where she sat.

"That goes for you as well," Cora muttered to her youngest, but Sybil simply returned the look of warning with a sweet smile of her own.

Ignoring Sybil, Cora turned back to Edith, and in a soft voice asked, "are you feeling better, darling?"

Edith's face began to burn at her mother's question, and despite her better judgment, looked past Cora's shoulder to Mary, who hadn't missed the question, but who was pretending that she had. "I'm fine, Mama," Edith whispered back, giving her mother a pointed look of her own, silently telling her to let the subject drop altogether. Thankfully, Cora seemed to understand, and put on a smile that betrayed nothing.

She wrapped an arm around Edith's shoulders, and turned towards Pierre who was adding the final touches to Mary's hair. "I believe Lady Edith is ready, Pierre—oh Mary, I do like that style," Cora complimented, smiling at her daughter's reflection, which was soon followed by an emotional sniff.

"Oh Mama," Mary groaned. "Are you going to be doing this all morning?"

Cora dabbed at her eyes, but also managed to give her eldest daughter a look of annoyance. "As a mother whose seeing all three of her daughters married today, I think I have a right to shed a few tears."

"Perhaps you should have 'spread us out then'," Sybil piped up, though she inwardly winced at her statement, especially when Mary flashed her a cutting look.

"Well it's too late for that," Cora groaned, not seeming to notice the look exchanged between her daughters. "Now, Pierre, what do you think we should do with Lady Edith's hair?"

"Mama…" Edith blushed, looking embarrassed over their mother's fussing.

But Pierre gave Edith a large smile, before dramatically removing a smock from an empty chair, much like a matador removing his cape before a crowd. "Have a seat, mademoiselle," he offered, kissing Edith's hand the second she placed it in the stylist's. However, no sooner had she settled in the chair, a brisk knock was heard on the door, followed by the entrance of Anna, who had several garment bags draped over her arm.

Pierre had just begun to put his fingers in Edith's hair, when she sat up at attention upon the sight of Mary's assistant.

"Oh! Here they are!" Cora gasped, moving forward to help Anna with the garment bags.

"Freshly steamed," Anna announced with a smile, as she and Lady Grantham hung the bags with care across a portable clothing rack.

"Oh, how beautiful…" Cora wistfully sighed as she gazed upon the gowns, safely protected behind zippered plastic. She began to blink, and then sniffle, then murmured, "my little women…" before turning to look at her daughters, tears now shining in her eyes. "My beauties, my babies…"

"Oh Mama, don't," Mary sighed, looking a little embarrassed by her mother's show of emotion. She was so good at keeping her own emotions hidden, she never really knew how to handle the emotional displays of others, especially her mother.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" Cora assured, although her words soon became hiccups, and her tears were quickly turning into sobs. "I…I just…a mother dreams of this day for her daughters!"

Mary looked desperately at Anna, and Anna nodded her head in silent understanding. "Beggin' your pardon, your Ladyship, but I wonder if you would come with me? There's something that needs your attention outside—something to do with flowers in the reception tent…"

Despite her tears, Cora's eyes widened at Anna's words, and even though she continued to sniffle, she nodded her head and announced that she would see to the issue at once! "Nothing but perfection for the three of you today!" she declared, before pausing to blow her nose and making a hasty exit to tackle the supposed problem.

"Thank you," Mary mouthed to her assistant, who answered with an understanding smile. Anna turned to follow their mother out of the room, but just before she slipped out the door, Mary noticed Edith reach out and grasp Anna's wrist, whispering something that was indecipherable, but whatever she had said, Anna whispered something back before giving a tiny nod of her head, and then leaving the room at last.

"What was that all about?" Mary asked after Anna had shut the door behind her.

Edith looked back at Mary in the mirror's reflection. "What?"

Mary watched her sister closely. "Just now…you said something to Anna...?"

Mary's eyes narrowed in suspicion as she noticed her sister's face pale. And that suspicion only grew when Edith attempted to laugh as if the entire thing were nothing, when clearly it was.

"Oh, just…just that I left something in my room, and I asked if she could bring it here."

Mary lifted one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. "…And that would be?"

Edith seemed at a loss for words, before finally mumbling, "Earrings."

Mary frowned. "Earrings?"

"Earrings," Edith repeated, sounding a bit more confident, or rather, committing to the lie she was clearly telling.

Mary decided to play along, just a bit longer. "Which earrings?"

Edith lowered her eyes, no longer meeting Mary's gaze in the mirror. "Just…just the tear-drop ones, you know the pair."

Mary watched her sister carefully. "You mean the ones Granny gave you? The antique ones that used to belong to the 4th Countess of Grantham?"

Edith lifted her eyes and met Mary's once again. "Yes! Yes, that pair—thought they would be my 'something old'," she explained.

"Well, that would make perfect sense…if you hadn't already leant them to Sybil."

Edith's smile faded. "W-what?"

Sybil looked over at them then. "Did you say something?"

Mary turned her head slightly to her youngest sister. "Sybil, didn't Edith lend you her tear-drop earrings for today?" She turned back to Edith. "If I remember, it was Edith's idea that you wear them, thinking they would go nicely with your dress..."

Edith's pale face was now turning a bright shade of scarlet.

"Poor Anna is going to be on a wild goose chase looking for something you already gave away."

Edith's eyes narrowed at Mary, her embarrassment clearly melting into anger. "You think you're so superior and clever," she muttered.

"Trust me, Edith, it doesn't take a genius to see through your lies," she coolly retorted. Pierre and his assistants glanced at one another, a mixture of uncertainty and nervousness.

"So?" Mary pressed. _"What_ was that all about?"

Edith groaned. "Why do you need to know?"

Sybil frowned. "What on earth are you both talking about?"

They ignored her. "I think I have a right—"

_"RIGHT!?" _

"Well she is _my_ assistant—"

"That doesn't mean you 'own' her! And she's meant to be helping all of us, not just _you!"_

"Mary, Edith—"

"I am ALLOWED to have a private life, Mary!"

"Fine, but what does Anna have to do with it?"

"My God, can't you just let it drop!?"

"Why are you making a mountain out of a molehill?"

"I'M NOT DOING THAT, _YOU_ ARE!"

"No, _YOU_ ARE! I just asked you a simple question, and then you started _LYING—"_

"You're both behaving like children."

"SHUT UP, SYBIL!"

"Ah, here we are!" came Mrs. Hughes' warm, Scottish brogue as she entered the dressing room carrying the Crawley tiara, and not a moment too soon. The second she entered, Pierre gasped an exclamation in French, before practically muttering something about needing to step out and get a bit of air, muttering under his breath in broken English something about "not being paid enough to work in zee conditions!"

"Thank God you came, Mrs. Hughes," Sybil muttered under her breath to the Downton housekeeper.

"Is something amiss?" Violet asked, her voice filling the tense silence as she entered the room. However, that tension quickly broke at the surprised gasps of seeing Isobel following directly behind their grandmother.

"Hello, my dears!" Isobel warmly greeted, seeming to be oblivious to the war that had nearly taken place just a few seconds ago. "Oh, how lovely you all look!" she exclaimed, turning and hugging Sybil who was standing closest, leaning in and kissing the youngest Crawley girl's cheek, then smiling at Edith in the mirror, reaching out and giving her shoulder an affection squeeze, before finally turning to her future daughter-in-law, who was staring back at Isobel with perhaps the biggest look of surprise out of everyone.

Sybil noticed Mary's stunned silence and gave her sister a slight nudge, which finally prompted Mary into action, rising from her chair and going into Isobel's open arms. "I'm so glad you're here," Mary murmured into Isobel's shoulder.

"As am I, my dear," Isobel happily replied, releasing Mary and gazing back at her with loving eyes. "Oh, you are a vision, my dear; Matthew will be at a loss for words, I know it."

Mary blushed and forced a smile, trying her best to ignore her grandmother's pointed look. "Have you…have you seen him yet? Matthew?" she asked Isobel, trying her best to appear calm and casual.

"No, not yet," Isobel answered. "I fear I'll start crying and not be able to stop!" she chuckled. "I'll save those tears for when I see him at the ceremony—oh!" she looked to the corner where Anna and Cora had hung the garment bags that contained their gowns. "Are these your dresses? Oh my…" she whispered, approaching them with quiet reverence. "How lovely…and each so unique, just like the three of you!"

"Well, perhaps not as 'unique' as you think," Mary volunteered. "Edith's dress is _also_ a vintage 1920's style."

"It is, although _I _was the first to choose it," Edith added, her eyes never leaving her sister as she spoke. "Mary changed her mind about her original gown and decided to copy _me."_

"Copy!?" Mary sputtered, turning to Edith with an incredulous look.

Sybil groaned and shook her head. "I'll find Pierre," she muttered, though really she was looking for any excuse to leave the room and get away from her sister's squabbling. They seemed worse today than usual and she could only assume it was related to stress over the day.

And both of them seemed to under a great deal of stress, as if something…bigger…were troubling them. Today was meant to be a day of happiness and joy, and yet her sisters seemed ready to take on the world and rip it apart! Or was that simply with one another? Mary had been crying and Edith had been ill…what was going on?

Sybil sighed and shook her head, and decided to retreat to Mrs. Hughes' pantry where the housekeeper always kept a warm kettle on. A cup of tea sounded heavenly right now, especially when considering the amount of butterflies that were ceaselessly flapping in her stomach.

With her hair in curlers, and in her robe and slippers, she tip-toed as quietly as she could down the stairs, not wanting to draw attention to herself from anyone lingering in the breakfast room—

"Sybil?"

Sybil sighed, her hopes for a stealthy escape up in smoke. "Good morning, Papa," she turned to greet her father…and stopped short when she saw a tall, dark-haired man standing next to him.

"Sybil…" the man murmured, bowing his head as if she were royalty, and then giving her a warm, handsome smile. "It's wonderful to see you…again," he chuckled.

She felt her face flush brightly at his words, and her hands clasped the edges of her robe just a bit tighter. "Tom…" she whispered in surprise.

"Ah, so you do remember Tom Bellasis?" Robert asked, looking back and forth between his daughter and their guest.

Sybil blushed but nodded her head, forcing a smile while at the same time wondering what he was doing, standing next to her father inside their house? She had only just seen him…surely not more than an hour ago?

"You know, it's funny…" Robert went on, turning his attention back to Tom Bellasis. "Last night, your name came up."

Sybil's eyes began to widen as she realized what her father was about to say.

"Oh?" Tom Bellasis chuckled, looking amused as well as curious. "Nothing bad, I hope?"

"Not at all," Robert chuckled back. "Simply that when Sybil was a child, I remember how she patched up some sort of scrape you had, kissing—"

"Yes, Papa, we all remember," Sybil interrupted, her face on fire.

Tom Bellasis threw his head back and laughed, though it was by no means obnoxious or petty. Like his smile, it was a warm, friendly sound, one that would make a teenage girl's toes curl with hope and longing…as it may have once done for Sybil.

"Yes, I remember that as well," he softly murmured, his eyes finding Sybil's and briefly holding her gaze in such a way that Sybil's grip on her robe tightened even more.

"Strange," Robert murmured, more to himself than to them. "I brought up that story last night for the first time in…ages, I believe, and yet…here you are!"

"Here I am," Tom Bellasis chuckled, though he kept his gaze on Sybil.

Sybil swallowed and murmured back, "here you are," though why…after all this time…she wasn't entirely sure.

* * *

"Oi! Michael!"

Michael Gregson lifted his head at the sound of his assistant's voice. He was sitting in the back of their news van, going over the equipment and trying to stake out, based on what images they could get from village, a good vantage point for photographs. "What?" he muttered, going back to the notes he had been taking. "You have some news for me? Were you able to tip off one of the caterers about which door they'll be exiting when the time comes to head to the church?"

"Better!" his assistant hissed, sounding as if he were going to keel over with impish glee.

Michael looked at his assistant and frowned. "Better?"

His assistant nodded his head…and then held out his palm, upon which there was…

"…A flash drive?"

His assistant nodded, still grinning like a mad man. Or rather, like a man who had just been handed the code to Royal Jewel House.

Michael eyed the tiny device like a beetle in a jar. "Where did you get it?"

"Some bloke gave it to me."

Michael looked at his assistant with raised eyebrow. "Some…'bloke'…gave it to you?"

"I've already looked at it," his assistant assured him, but Michael didn't feel assured, not in the slightest.

"Who was this bloke?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest and looking sternly back at the other man.

"Just…I don't know, some bloke who told me he had 'a story', and I know what you're thinking, I was the same way too—completely skeptical at first, but then I looked at it…" he paused for effect and simply beamed back at Michael, as if waiting for him to award him like a dog who had just performed a trick.

Michael continued frowning. "What's on it?"

"I don't want to spoil it you—"

"Tell me!"

His assistant groaned. "Just…trust me on this, yeah? Look around you, Michael, every paper and news program is here, all ready to report on the same story…but THIS," he grinned while waving the flash drive. "This is something that only WE know, and something that will put us ahead of everybody else!"

Michael looked at the flash drive again, then back at his assistant, his eyes narrowing in thought. "What does your new friend want for it?" he finally asked.

"Nothing."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Oh don't give me that—"

"It's true!"

"Bollocks!" Michael swore. "No one just gives you something like this and expects nothing in return."

"Well he did," his assistant insisted. "Come on, Michael, take a look! Trust me, you'll not regret it."

Michael snorted at that, but took the flash drive and plugged it into one of their laptops and waited for whatever it contained to upload onto the screen.

…It was a video. A short clip, no more than twenty seconds, but still…when he clicked on it, his eyes widened as he watched the scene unfold, and they only kept widening as the entire clip played out.

His assistant had been right; this was a story that NOBODY else would have.

He knew he should ask more questions; he knew he should know more about the mysterious "source" and perhaps try to track down the bloke who had spoken with his assistant and had handed him the flash drive…but on a day like today, when all that mattered was beating your competition to the punch…

"Call the network," he whispered into his assistant's ear, then upon further thought, added, "Call _all_ the networks. Tell them we have something and if they want in, they better be ready to pay."

His assistant grinned like the Cheshire cat, before nodding his head and scampering away to do that very thing. Michael turned his attention back to the screen before him and replayed the clip once more, wincing at first, and even, momentarily, feeling a pang of guilt for what he was about to do. But then he thought about the story that would come out of this, and the offers that would be made on behalf of it, and that made the guilt he had been feeling a great deal easier to bear.

* * *

_DUN! DUN! DUUUUUUUNNNNNNN!  
_


End file.
